-ViCTORpi  SARDOU 


Wm^m 

i 

» 

III,  Library 

31 

« 


MADAME  SANS-GENE 

(“MADAME  DON’T-CARE”) 


FOUNDED  ON  THE  PLAY  BY 

VlCTORlEN  SARDOU  AND  EMILE  MOREAU 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  BY 

Isaac  George  Reed,  Jr. 


NEW  YORK: 

OPTIMUS  PRINTING  COMPANY, 
4S,  47,  49  AND  51  ROSE  St. 


Copyright,  1856, 

BY 

Optimus  Printing  CkK 


Madame  Sana-Gene. 


PUBLISHERS’  NOTICE 


The  career  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  has  hitherto 
1 been  treated  as  an  historical  narrative.  In  this  book 
Messrs.  Sardou  and  Moreau  have  woven  the  facts 
of  history  into  a drama  of  most  intense  interest. 
Here  is  shown  the  many-sided  character  of  the 
First  Napoleon, — as  the  adventurer,  the  lover,  the 
warrior,  the  Emperor  ; — together  with  the  thrilling 
events  transpiring  on  the  eve  of  that  great  revolu- 
tion upon  the  waves  of  which  he  was  carried  to  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  of  fame.  The  immortal 
and  inimitable  Catherine  Upscher,  who,  because  of 
her  free  and  easy  manners,  and  because  she  cares 
for  nothing  and  fears  nothing,  has  been  nick-named 
Madame  Sans-GSne,'*  lends  to  this  historical 
romance  an  air  of  refreshing  comedy  and  bright- 
; ness  that  fully  accounts  for  the  many  friendly 
' criticisms  which  recommend  this  book  as  a study 
s.,  of  Napoleon  and  his  times. 


CONTENTS. 

®HAFT.  PAGE 

I.  The  Ball  and  the  Fricassee 5 

II.  The  Magician  and  the  Prediction— the  Man  with  a Star 10 

III.  Royalty’s  Last  Night  and  Catherine’s  Wedding  Gift 18 

IV.  Catherine  and  a Chevalier  du  Poignard— the  Republican 

and  the  Aristocrat 22 

V.  The  Man  Inside  the  Bedroom  and  the  Man  Outside 32 

VI.  Little  Henriot,  or  Man’s  Love  and  Woman’s  Gratitude 36 

VII.  The  Tenant  of  the  Hotel  de  Metz 44 

Till.  The  Little  Days  of  a Great  Man— Napoleon  when  he  was 

Young  and  Poor 47 

IX.  The  Handsome  Sergeant  and  Her  Brother 50 

X.  The  Oath  Under  the  i^oplars— the  Involuntary  Enlistment. . . 65 

XI.  The  Confidence  of  Madame  Sans-Gene  and  why  she  did  not 

Present  her  Laundry  Bill ....  71 

XII.  The  Post-Chaise— the  Fruit  Shop— the  Lady  of  St.  Cyr— 

Napoleon’s  First  Defeat 82 

XIII.  The  Siege  of  Verdun— on  the  March— the  Forsaken— the 

Arrival  of  the  Volunteers 96 

XIV.  Brunswick’s  Messenger  — Beaurepaire’s  Oath — Leonard's 

Mission— the  Emigrants’  Camp 110 

XV.  Catherine’s  Night  Alarm— a Hero’s  End 117 

XVI.  On  the  Edge  of  the  Unknown— Napoleon  Bonaparte’s  At- 
tempt at  Suicide  and  Why  it  Failed— his  Second  Defeat. . . 138 

XVII.  Jemmapes— the  Nuptial  Mass— a “Married  and  Settled” 

Woman’s  Unexpected  Appearance  as  a “Bride” ; 132 

XVin.  A Debt  of  Gratitude— the  Eve  of  Battle— the  War  Song  and 

the  Victory 145 

XIX.  The  Star  of  Destiny  Rises— and  the  Man  of  Destiny  Falls  in 

Love 16£ 

XX.  “Yeyette” — Josephine  as  Girl — Wife— Widow — Adventur- 
ess and  as  Napoleon’s  Idol 169 

XXI.  Madame  Bonaparte  and  an  Interview  with  Barras— a W Oman 

Asks  for  Advice  and  Takes  It 178 

XXII,  How  a Great  Man  Married  and  was  Deceived— the  Truth 

Concerning  Josephine— the  Sword  from  the  Pyramids 182 

XXIII.  Madame  La  Marechale  takes  a Dancing  Lesson  and— a 

Thunderbolt  Falls  193 

XXIV.  The  Secret  Society  of  La  Rue  Bourg  L’Abbe— the  Plan  of 
Leonidas— Lefebvre  tries  to  Understand— the  Entry  into 

Berlin 204 

XXV.  The  Promotion  of  Henriot — the  Parole  of  a Prussian— the 
Loves  of  Napoleon  and  the  Secret  of  Josephine— Monsieur 

Le  Due  de  Dantzig. 209 

XXVI.  The  Salon  of  an  Empress  and  the  Revenge  of  Catherine 

Sans-Gene 221 

XXVII.  The  Russian  Alliance— the  Austrian  Alliance— the  Divorce. . 228 

XXVIII.  Lefebvre  Conquers  Napoleon— the  Flaming  Heart 233 

XXIX.  The  Archduchess— the  Imperial  Wedding— Napoleon’s  Jeal- 
ousy— Fouche’s  Disgrace — Catherine  s New  Hat 239 

XXX.  The  Faith  of  the  Laundress— the  Mamelukes  of  Napoleon— 

The  Debt  of  the  Ceutiniere  is  Cancelled 244 


MADAME  SANS-GENE 


BOOK  FIRST. 

THE  LAUNDRESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BALL  AKD  THE  FRICASSEE. 

In  the  Kue  de  Bondy  lamps,  lighted  but  smoking, 
showed  the  way  to  a popular  ball,  known  as  The 
Waux-Hall.” 

This  fantastically  named  affair  was  directed  by  an 
artist  of  “The  Theater  of  Arts,”  Citizen  Joly. 

The  time  was  during  the  great  days  of  July,  1792, 
when  Louis  XVI.  was  still  called  king,  but  his  head, 
which  had  in  reality  been  doomed  to  the  axe  since 
June  20,  rested  uneasily  on  his  shoulders. 

It  was  a time  of  Revolution.  Revolution  was  in 
the  very  air.  Revolution  thundered  through  the 
streets. 

Three  men,  Robespierre,  Marat  and  Barbaroux, 
had  held  a secret  conclave,  in  which,  though  they 
had  not  agreed  in  the  choice  of  a chief,  a dictator,  a 
“Friend  of  the  People,”  they  had  determined  to 
make  a decisive  attack  on  the  royal  family,  who  were 
practically  prisoners  in  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries. 


6 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


Meanwhile  Paris  waited  for  the  troops  from  Mar- 
seilles to  give  the  signal  for  revolt. 

And  meantime  the  Prussian  king  and  the  Austrian 
emperor  prepared  to  throw  themselves  on  France, 
which  they  regarded  as  an  easy  prey — a nation  already 
self-overthrown.  The  Prince  of  Brunswick,  general- 
issimo of  the  royal  and  imperial  armies,  had  issued 
from  Coblenz  a manifesto  threatening  Paris  with 
dire  vengeance  if  it  dared  to  offer  violence  or  outrage 
to  “their  majesties  King  Louis  XVI.  or  the  Queen 
Marie  Antoinette,”  but  Paris  merely  defied  the  prince 
and  organized  the  uprising  of  the  tenth  of  August. 

Still,  the  city  kept  on  enjoying  itself;  for  Paris  is 
a volcano  with  two  craters — one  of  passion  and  one  of 
pleasure. 

Men  armed  themselves  in  the  suburbs;  they  talked  , 
noisily  in  clubs;  cartridges  were  distributed  to  the 
national  guard,  but,  all  the  same,  men  and  women 
enjoyed  themselves  and  danced. 

On  the  still  fresh  ruins  of  the  grim  Bastille,  now 
demolished  forever,  some  wag  had  placed  a placard, 
“One  can  dance  here.”  And  sometimes  they  did 
dance  there.  It  was  one  way  of  showing  that  the 
ancient  regime  had  forever  disappeared. 

The  revolution  was  accomplished  amid  song  and 
dance — the  Marseillaise  and  the  Carmagnole. 

Scores  of  balls  were  taking  place  every  night,  and 
one  of  the  gayest  and  most  popular  was  the  Waux- 
Hall. 

The  dancing,  like  the  dressing,  at  these  balls  was 
a mixture  of  the  old  and  the  new.  The  minuet  the 
gavotte  and  the  pavane  were  mingled  with  the  ri- 
gaudon,  the  trenitz,  the  monaco,  and  that  favorite 
of  favorites,  the  fricassee. 

On  the  large  floor  of  the  Waux-Hall,  one  night  in 
the  last  week  of  July,  there  was  a vast  crowd,  and 
everybody  was  enjoying  himself  or  herself  hugely. 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


7 


The  women  were  gayly  attired,  active  and  mostly 
young.  The  men  were  vigorous.  The  costumes 
were  various.  Short  breeches,  with  wig,  French  coat 
and  stockings,  were  in  evidence,  alongside  of  the 
long  trousers  introduced  with  the  revolution.  (It 
may  be  remarked  here,  en  passant^  that  the  now 
famous  term  sanS’CitlloUes^n^QA  to  designate  ‘‘the 
patriots,”  simply  me‘>ns  that  they  did  not  wear  the 
ordinary  covering  of  the  legs.) 

There  were  many  uniforms  at  the  ball.  For  num- 
bers of  the  National  Guards  were  present,  who  were 
ready  at  the  lirst  drum  call  to  begin  the  overture  of 
revolution  by  a dance,  not  at  the  Waux-Hall,  but  the 
Tuileries — a dance  around  the  throne. 

And  among  these  uniforms,  moving  proudly  and 
showing  himself  to  advantage,  was  a tall,  muscular 
young  man,  in  face  both  strong  and  gentle,  and 
wearing,  like  a fop,  the  showy  costume  of  the  French 
guard,  with  the  red  and  blue  cockade  of  the  city  of 
Paris.  A silver  braid  on  his  sleeve  denoted  his  rank. 
He  had  been  a sergeant  in  the  city  militia  before  the 
disbanding  of  the  French  guards. 

He  passed  twice  or  thrice  before  a girl,  pretty  and 
buxom,  with  clear  blue  eyes,  who  was  not  dancing  at 
the  time.  The  handsome  guardsman  looked  wist- 
fully at,  but  hesitated  to  approach  her,  though  his 
comrades  encouraged  him.  She  eyed  him  scornfully. 

“Go  on,  Lefebvre,”  said  one  of  his  companions  to 
the  guardsman;  “the  place  is  not  impregnable.” 

“Perhaps,”  laughed  another  of  his  companions, 
“she  has  herself  opened  a breach  ere  this.” 

“And,”  cried  a third,  “if  you  don’t  attempt  it,  I 
will  myself.” 

“You  can  see,  Lefebvre,”  said  the  man  who  had 
first  spoken,  “that  it  is  you  she  is  looking  at.  Ask 
her  to  dance  the  fricassee  with  you.” 

Lefebvre  was  silent.  He  seemed  afraid  to  address 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE. 


the  fresh  young  woman,  who,  though  she  was  by  no 
means  icy,  was  not  one  whit  abashed. 

^‘Do  you  really  think  I have  a chance,  Berna- 
dotte?”  said  Lefebvre,  finally,  to  the  last  speaker. 
“Well,  by  heaven,  a French  soldier  never  retreats 
from  an  enemy  or  a pretty  woman.  Ma  foi!  I will 
make  the  attack.” 

And,  leaving  his  companions.  Sergeant  Lefebvre 
advanced  to  the  pretty  girl,  whose  eyes  began  to  flash 
angrily,  for  she  had  heard  the  remarks  about  her. 
She  stood,  bracing  herself  ready  to  receive  him  in 
fine  fashion. 

“Listen,”  she  said  to  a girl  standing  beside  her, 
“you  will  hear  me  teach  those  impertinent  guards 
whether  or  no  I have  really  made  an  opening  for 
them.”  And  she  rose  quickly,  eyes  flashing,  hands 
on  her  hips,  tongue  ready,  prepared  for  action. 

'!  The  sergeant,  on  his  part,  thought  deeds  would 
count  more  than  words.  So,  extending  his  arms,  he 
seized  the  young  woman  by  the  waist,  and,  attempt- 
ing to  kiss  her  neck,  said : 

“Mademoiselle,  will  you  dance  the  fricassee?” 

The  sergeant  had  been  quick,  but  the  girl  was 
quicker.  She  freed  herself  from  the  sergeant’s  half- 
embrace, and  stretching  out  her  hand  in  the  direction 
of  his  cheek,  slapped  it  heartily,  saying  merrily,  as 
well  as  almost  furiously,  “Take  that,  my  boy! 
ThaV%  your  fricassee.” 

The  sergeant  fell  hack,  rubbed  his  cheek  vigor- 
ously, then  absolutely  blushed;  finally,  politely 
lifting  his  three-cornered  hat,  said,  with  a gallant 
air:  “Mademoiselle,  I humbly  ask  your  pardon.” 

“Oh,”  said  the  girl,  her  anger  gone,  “there’s  no 
offense,  my  lad ; I have  merely  given  you  a lesson. 
Another  time  you’ll  know  with  whom  you  are  deal- 
ing.” Then,  turning  to  the  women  round  her,  she 
said,  iotio  voce:  “ He’s  not  so  bad — that  guardsman.” 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


9 


Bernadotte  meantime  (who  had  been  jealous  of 
Lefebvre  when  he  took  his  advice  and  approached 
the  pretty  girl,  but  had  smiled  when  he  saw  him 
slapped)  now  took  his  arm,  exclaiming:  ‘‘Come  with 
us;  nobody  wants  to  dance  with  you,  you  see,  Le- 
febvre. Perhaps,”  he  continued,  with  a look  at  the 
girl,  ‘^perhaps,  after  all,  mademoiselle  does  not  know 
how  to  dance  the  fricassee.” 

Up  spoke  the  girl  quickly:  ‘‘What’s  that  you  say? 
I can  dance  the  fricassee,  and  I will,  when  I choose, 
but  not  with  you”  (looking  at  Bernadotte);  “but” 
(glancing  at  Lefebvre)  “if  your  comrade  were  to  ask 
me,  like  a gentleman,  I should  be  glad  to  dance  a 
measure  with  him.  There  is  no  ill-feeling  between 
ns,  is  there,  sergeant?”  she  asked,  turning  to  Lefeb- 
vre, and  extending  her  hand. 

“Ill-feeling!”  exclaimed  Lefebvre;  “Surely  not. 
Yet  I again  ask  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,  though 
it  was  more  my  companions’  fault,  and  Bernadotte’s 
there,  than  my  own.  I got  simply  what  I deserved.” 

The  girl  interrupted  him. 

“By  your  accent,”  she  said,  “you  must  be  an 
Alsatian.” 

“I  am  a native  of  the  Upper-Khine — at  Euifach,” 
replied  Lefebvre. 

del!  what  luck!”  ejaculated  the  girl;  “I  am 
from  St.  Amarin.” 

“My  countrywoman,”  said  the  man. 

“My  countryman,”  said  the  woman.  “Strange,” 
she  continued,  “how  people  do  come  across  each 
other.”  , 

“And  you  are  called?”  asked  the  man. 

“Catherine,”  said  the  woman;  “ Catherine  Unscher 
—laundress — Rue  Royal,  corner  of  Rue  Orties-Haint- 
Honore.” 

“ While  I am  Lefebvre,  ex-sergeant  of  the  guards,” 
said  the  man;  “now  in  the  militia.” 


10 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


Tres  bien!^^  spoke  up  the  laundress;  ‘Mater  on, 
countryman,  we  will  learn  more  about  each  other; 
hut  just  now  the  fricassee  calls  us,  sergeant.” 

And,  without  further  ado,  taking  his  hand  she 
led  him  among  the  maze  of  dancers. 

While  the  two  danced,  a pale,  wan-faced  young 
man,  with  long  hair  worn  over  dog-like  eyes,  quiet 
and  subtle  in  bearing,  with  a coat  like  a cassock,  ex- 
claimed: “What!  Catherine  among  the  guards!” 

Sergeant  Bernadette  overheard  this  remark.  “Do 
you  know  this  Catherine?”  he  asked. 

“ Yes,  I assure  you!”  replied  the  pale-faced  youth; 
“she  is  my  laundress.  A good  girl,  and  a virtuous, 
with  an  open  heart  and  a sharp  tongue.  Through- 
out the  quarter  she  is  known  to  every  one  as  Madame 
Don’t  Care — Madame  Sans  Gene—and  she  has  earned 
the  title  by  her  bold  words  and  decided  ways.” 

The  orchestra  now  grew  louder.  The  dancers 
grew  more  lively,  and  all  chance  for  conversation 
was  lost  in  the  wild  tumult  of  the  fricassee. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

THE  MAGICIAJSr  AND  THE  PKEDICTION — THE  MAN 
WITH  A STAK. 

When  the  dance  was  ended  Sergeant  Lefebvre  led 
his  countrywoman  to  her  place.  There  was  peace 
between  them.  They  talked  like  old  friends,  they 
walked  arm  in  arm,  like  young  lovers. 

Lefebvre  to  insure  the  continuance  of  good  humor 
proposed  refreshments. 

“ Agreed,”  replied  Catherine.  “ I do  not  stand  on 
ceremony.  You  look  like  a good  sort  of  fellow,  and 
assuredly  I shall  not  refuse  your  politeness,  especially 
as  the  fricassee  makes  one  thirsty.  Let  us  sit  down 
here,”  taking  seats  at  one  of  the  tables.  Lefebvre 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


11 


was  charmed  at  the  turn  things  were  taking.  He 
hesitated  a moment,  however,  before  seating  himself. 

‘‘What’s  the  matter  with  you?”  asked  Catherine, 
quite  brusquely. 

“Look  you,”  answered  her  escort,  looking  around 
him  at  his  companions,  and  speaking  with  some  em- 
barrassment, “it  is  this:  we  guardsmen  and  militia- 
men do  not  like  to  act  churlishly — like  Switzers.” 

“Oh,”  said  she,  “I  understand — your  comrades — 
you  wish  to  ask  them  to  join  us.  A¥ell,  do  so,  if 
you  will,  or  do  you  want  me  to  call  them?” 

And,  without  waiting  for  his  reply,  she  mounted 
a green  wooden  bench  near  the  table,  and  arranging 
her  pretty  hands  around  her  pretty  mouth,  like  a 
speaking  trumpet,  she  called  to  the  three  guardsmen 
who  stood  a little  distance  off,  amusing  themselves 
at  the  actions  of  the  couple. 

“Oho!  lads,”  she  cried,  “come  over  here.  Don’t 
be  afraid!  We  won’t  eat  you.  Besides,  if  you  only 
watch  us  drinking,  without  drinking  yourselves,  you 
will  get  the  blues.” 

The  three  guardsmen  responded  gayly  to  the 
friendly  invitation — all  but  Bernadotte,  who  lin- 
gered behind. 

“What!  you’re  surely  not  going?”  said  one  of  the 
other  two  to  Bernadotte. 

“No,  but  I want  to  talk  with  yonder  citizen,”  was 
the  reply,  with  a glance  toward  the  young  man 
already  alluded  to,  with  the  long  frock  and  the 
dog-like  eyes. 

Bernadotte  spoke  rather  crossly.  He  was  in  reality 
somewhat  jealous  already  of  Lefebvre’s  success  with 
.the  pretty  laundress. 

Catherine  had  caught  Bernadette’s  glance  at  the 
wan-faced  young  man. 

“Oh,  he’s  not  in  the  way,”  she  said;  “I  know  him 
and  he  knows  me.  Is  it  not  so.  Citizen  Fouche?” 


12 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


The  party  thus  addressed  came  forward  to  the 
table  where  Catherine  and  Lefebvre  were  seated — 
the  latter  having  ordered  warm  wines  and  pastry — 
and  said,  as  he  saluted  them:  Since  Mademoiselle 
Catherine  desires,  I come  gladly.  For  I love  to  find 
myself  among  the  brave  defenders  of  our  city.” 

Then  the  four  guardsmen  and  Fouche  sat  down, 
and,  having  filled  their  glasses,  they  drank  together. 
But  Catherine  and  Lefebvre,  among  other  quiet  gal- 
lantries, drank,  without  being  noticed,  from  the 
same  glass. 

Then  Lefebvre,  growing  bolder,  tried  to  kiss  her, 
but  Catherine  drew  back.  ‘‘No  kiss,  my  country- 
man— at  least,  not  yet.  I will  laugh  with  you,  dance 
with  you,  drink  with  you,  but  no  more.” 

Fouche,  noticing  this  little  episode,  said  laughingly 
to  Lefebvre:  “One  would  scarcely  look  for  such 
modesty  in  a washerw^oman.  But  in  such  matters 
she  is  not  very  yielding — our  Mademoiselle  Sans 
Gene.” 

“Come,  Citizen  Fouche,’’ cried  Catherine  quickly; 
“ you  know  me  well — I have  done  your  laundry  work — 
in  the  three  months  since  you  came  from  Nantes, 
has  any  one  the  right  to  say  anything  against  me?” 

“No,”  answered  Fouche,  “no  one — nothing.” 

“Right,”  said  Catherine.  “Mark  me,  friends,” 
she  continued,  “I  am  always  ready  to  play  like  this; 
to  dance  a fricassee  now  and  then.  I will  even  drink 
with  good  lads  like  these;  but  no  one  in  Paris  can 
boast  that  he  has  ever  crossed  the  threshold  of  my 
room.  My  workshop  is  open  to  the  world;  but  to 
my  bedchamt)er  there  is  only  one  man  who  shall 
ever  have  the  key.” 

“And  who  may  be  that  lucky  man?”  asked  Ser- 
geant Lefebvre,  twirling  his  mustache. 

‘^My  husband,”  answered  Catherine  haughtily; 
then  clicking  her  glass  against  Lefebvre’s  she  asked 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


13 


laughingly:  ‘^and  in  that  case,  countryman,  what 
would  you  have  to  say?” 

‘‘  Say,”  replied  Lefebvre,  still  twirling  his  mustache, 
‘‘I  should  say  that  it  were  not  such  a bad  thing  for 
him.  To  your  health,  but  not  to  his,  mam’selle,” 
he  added. 

‘^ISir,  to  yours,”  said  Catherine,  draining  her  glass; 
^^and  here’s  to  the  fulfillment  of  your  wishes,”  she 
added  meaningly. 

Then  they  all  drank  gayly,  laughing  over  this  last 
sally. 

And  while  thus  engaged  a singular  sight  presented 
itself.  A strange  figure  with  a pointed  cap,  and  a 
long  black  robe,  spangled  with  stars  of  silver,  and 
crescents  of  a bluish  hue,  and  comets  with  long  tails, 
moved  among  the  tables  like  a specter. 

Bernadette  recognized  this  specter  at  once,  and 
located  him.  “Look,”  he  cried, “ it  is  Fortunatus, 
the  magician.”  Then  he  cried  out  loudly:  “Who 
wants  to  have  his  fortune  told?” 

Every  ball  in  those  days  had  its  sorcerer,  its  card- 
reader,  its  fortune-teller,  who  revealed  the  past  and 
foretold  the  future  for  five  sous.  In  such  an  excited 
political  period  as  this,  proceeding  the  tenth  of  Au- 
gust,when  the  old  order  of  things  was  giving  way  to 
the  now  with  fairy-like  rapidity,  naturally  everybody 
believed  in  the  unbelievable, everybody  had  faith  in  the 
marvelous.  Cagliostro  with  his  glass,  Mesmer  with  his 
trough,  had  overturned  the  heads  of  the  aristocrats, 
while  the  people  had  confidence  in  the  soothsayers  of 
the  crossroads,  and  the  astrologers  of  the  taverns. 
As  for  Catherine,  the  laundress,  she  was  now  burning 
to  know  the  future,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  this 
meeting  to-night  with  the  handsome  sergeant  was 
destined  to  alter  her  whole  life.  She  was  about  to 
ask  Lefebvre  to  call  Fortunatus,  and  question  him, 
when  the  sorcerer  himself  turned  to  answer  some 


14 


MADAME  QANS-QEME, 


question  proposed  by  a group  of  three  men  seated  at 
a table  opposite. 

Let  us  first  hear  what  he  has  to  say  to  them,”  she 
whispered. 

“ Ah  !”  said  Bernadette,  lookii^  at  the  group  op- 
posite; know  one  of  them.  He  is  a Burgundian 
called  Andoche  Junot.” 

I know  another,”  said  Lefebvre;  ‘^he  is  an  aristo- 
crat called  Pierre  de  Marmont.  He  too  is  a Bur- 
gundian.” 

‘‘But  the  third  one,”  said  Fouche,  “that  lean 
young  man  with  the  deep-set  eyes,  and  the  dark 
complexion?  I am  sure  I have  seen  him  before.  Who 
is  he?  where  have  I seen  him?” 

“Perhaps  in  my  workroom,”  said  the  laundress, 
with  the  least  bit  of  a blush.  “He  is  an  artillery 
officer,  who  has  laid  down  his  commission — he  ex- 
pects another  appointment  I believe — he  lives  near 
me — in  the  Rue  Royal-Saint-Eoche,  at  the  Hotel  des 
Patriotes.” 

“Ah!  then  he  is  a Corsican,”  cried  Fouche.  “All 
the  Corsicans  live  at  that  hotel.  He  is  an  odd 
man,  this  client  of  yours — I remember  his  name  now. 
It’s  a strange  one — Berna — Buna — Bina — Bona -” 

“Bonaparte,”  said  Catherine. 

“Yes,  that’s  it — Bonaparte — Timoleon  Bonaparte 
— is  it  not?” 

“No;  Napoleon  Bonaparte,”  said  Catherine.  “He 
is  a wise  youth,  and  a rather  sad  one,”  she  contin- 
ued; “who  impresses  every  man  he  meets.” 

“Well,”  muttered  Fouche,  “if  ever  he  becomes 
anybody,  or  gets  anything,  he  ought  to  change  his 
name.  But  listen ! the  sorcerer  Fortunatus  is  speak- 
ing. What  can  he  be  saying  to  them?” 

The  four  guardsmen  at  once  grew  silent  and  lis- 
tened with  all  their  ears,  at  one  table,  to  what  was 
said  to  the  group  of  three  at  the  table  opposite.  As 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


15 


for  Catherine,  she  became  visibly  affected  by  the 
presence  of  the  sorcerer,  and  said  earnestly,  though 
in  a whisper,  to  Lefebvre:  I wish  he  would  prophesy 
good  luck  for  Bonaparte.  He  is  such  a good  young 
man;  he  is  not  rich  yet;  he  supports  four  brothers 
and  his  sisters.  Besides,”  she  continued,  assuming  a 
mercantile  manner,  “he  owes  me  for  several  wash- 
ings, and  I have  never  yet  been  able  even  to  present 
his  bill.” 

Fbrtunatus  meanwhile  was  balancing  his  pointed 
hat,  and  gravely  reading  the  outstretched  hand  of 
the  young  man  whom  Bernadotte  had  called  Junot. 

“Thy  career  shall  be  bright  and  well  rounded,”  he 
said,  in  a deep,  low  voice.  “Thou  shalt  be  a great 
man’s  friend — thou  shalt  triumph  with  him  glori- 
ously— thy  head  shalt  bear  a ducal  crown — thou  shalt 
triumph  in  the  South.” 

“Bravo!”  cried  Junot,  “thou  art  consoling  to  a 
soldier.  But,  after  all  my  good  fortune,  how  shall  I 
die?”  he  asked. 

“Thou  shalt  die  mad,”  answered  the  sorcerer  in 
his  hollow  tones. 

“ The  devil !”  cried  the  second  of  the  three  at  the 
table,  the  one  whom  Lefebvre  had  called  Marmont. 
“Shall  I go  mad,  too?” 

“No,”  answered  the  soothsayer;  “thou  shalt  live 
for  thy  own  shame  and  thy  country’s  ruin.  After  a 
life  of  glory,  thou  shalt  desert  thy  master,  betray 
thy  country,  and  become  a Judas.” 

Marmont  sneered.  “Thou  flatterest  me,  false 
prophet,”  he  cried  to  the  fortune-teller.  Then 
looking  toward  Bonaparte  he  asked  the  magician  to 
foretell  his  destiny. 

But  Bonaparte  drew  away  his  hand  and  said 
proudly:  “I  have  no  wish  to  be  told  the  future,  for 
I know  it.”  He  spoke  with  an  accent  of  profound 
conviction.  Then,  turning  to  his  friends,  he  pointed 


16 


MADAME  SAN^GEEE. 


to  the  stars,  visible  at  one  point  through  the  tent- 
like covering  of  the  dance-hall,  above  the  wall  that 
enclosed  it.  ‘‘Do  you  see  that  star  up  there?’'  he 
cried  in  a resounding  voice.  “No?  you  see  it  not. 
But  I see  it — that  is  enough  for  me — that  is  my  star.” 

The  sorcerer  moved  on,  and,  as  Catherine  beckoned 
to  him,  he  approached  her  group.  “Profit  by  yeur 
youth,”  he  said  abruptly  to  two  of  the  guardsmen^ 
“for  your  days  are  numbered.” 

“But  where  are  we  to  die?”  asked  one  of  the 
young  men,  who  afterward  was  shot  down  by  the 
Swiss  guards,  a martyr  to  liberty. 

“On  the  steps  of  a palace,”  was  the  reply. 

“What  greatness!”  exclaimed  Bernadette,  “death 
in  a tragedy  and  in  a palace — can  I not  share  it?” 

“No,”  answered  the  sorcerer,  “thou  shalt  die  in 
peace.  Thou  shalt  mount  a throne,  disown  thy  flag, 
war  with  thy  former  companions  in  arms,  and  lie  in  a 
foreign  grave,  beside  an  icy  sea.” 

“What  then  is  left  for  me?”  asked  Lefebvre  of 
the  fortune-teller. 

“You  shall  marry  the  woman  you  love,”  answered 
Portunatus;  “you  shall  lead  a mighty  army,  and 
your  name  shall  be  a synonym  for  faith  and  courage.” 

Lefebvre  smiled  proudly.  But  now  Catherine, 
the  laundress,  never  before  abashed,  asked  of  Fortu- 
natus  timidly : “I — sir  magician — what  shall  become 
of  me?” 

“As  for  you,  mademoiselle,”  said  the  amateur 
fortune-teller,  smiling  kindly  on  the  almost  trem- 
bling girl,  “you  shall  marry  the  man  you  love.” 

Then  Lefebvre  looked  at  Catherine,  and  uncon- 
sciously Catherine  looked  at  Lefebvre. 

“And  you  shall  be  a duchess,”  added  the  sorcerer, 
still  smiling. 

“Then  I must  hurry  and  become  a duke,”  cried 
Lefebvre  merrily  yet  meaningly.  “There,  magi- 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


17 


cian,”  he  said,  trying  to  impede  the  progress  of  For- 
tunatns,  ‘‘stop  and  complete  your  prophecy.  Tell 
me  if  I shall  marry  Catherine  here,  and  that  when 
man  and  wife  we  shall  become  duke  and  duchess.” 

He  really  seemed  anxious  to  have  the  fortune-teller 
prophesy  in  detail  as  he  wished,  and  even  Catherine 
seemed  to  be  not  indilferent.  But  Fortunatus,  still 
smiling  kindly  on  the  couj)le,  passed  on  and  vanished 
in  the  crowd. 

Fouche  looked  after  him.  “After  all,”  he  said, 
“the  magician  has  little  imagination — at  least,  not 
enough  left  for  me.  He  predicted  for  me  nothing. 
Am  I then  to  be  nobody?” 

“You!”  said  Catherine,  “why,  you  look  like  a 
curate  already.  What  would  you  like  to  be?” 

“Oh,  I am  at  present  an  enemy  of  tyrants,”  an- 
swered Fouche,  “but  I would  really  like  to  be  Min- 
ister of  Police.” 

“You  will  get  there,”  said  Catherine,  with  a 
meaning  look  and  a laugh.  “You  are  the  devil  to 
find  out  what  is  going  on.” 

“Yes,”  retorted  Fouche,  “1  shall  be  Minister  of 
Police  when  you  are  a duchess.”  He  smiled  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  smile  seemed  in  itself  a prophecy. 

By  this  time  the  ball  was  over.  The  party  arose, 
laughing  at  the  memory  of  the  magician  and  his 
magic. 

Lefebvre  offered  Catherine  his  arm  to  escort  her 
to  her  workroom,  and  in  front  of  the  couple  walked 
homeward  the  three  friends,  Junot,  Marmont  and 
Napoleon  Bonaparte — the  latter  a little  apart  from 
his  companions,  silent  and  grave. 

But  ever  and  anon  he  raised  his  eyes  heavenAvard 
as  if  seeking  among  its  shining  hosts  to  see  his  star — - 
the  star  of  destiny — his  star  alone. 


18 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


CHAPTEK  III. 

royalty’s  last  night  and  Catherine’s  wed- 

DING  GIFT. 

Th'e  tenth  of  Angust  fell  on  a Friday,  and  the 
weather  had  been  fine.  At  midnight  the  moon  shed 
its  luster  on  the  town.  Paris  had  been  sleeping  for 
some  time  past  with  hand  on  sword  and  one  eye 
open,  ready  to  rise  at  the  very  first  alarm.  The  city 
was  a furnace — the  revolution  boiled — the  Marseilles 
troops  had  arrived,  singing  the  Marseillaise. 

Meanwhile  the  nobles  barricaded  the  palaces,  and 
established  in  the  Tuileries  a garrison  of  Swiss  guards. 
They  were  called  by  the  citizens  the  Chevaliers  dii 
Poignard,  in  allusion  to  an  incident  at  a banquet  in 
October  when  the  national  cockade  had  been  trampled 
under  foot. 

The  revolution  was  really  born  on  the  tenth  day, 
or  ninth  night,  of  August.  It  was  a ‘‘spontaneous” 
uprising  of  a people’.  No  one  man  directed  it — not 
Marat,  who  was  in  his  cave;  not  Dan  ton,  who  was 
asleep  with  Camille  Desmoulins;  not  Eobespierre, 
who  lived  apart;  not  Barbaroux,  who  declined  to  lead 
the  Marseillaise;  not  Santerre,  who  only  figured  in 
the  fight  when  it  was  half  over. 

August  tenth  saw  a nameless,  headless  insurrection 
— a battle  without  a commander — yet  with  a mob  for 
general,  and  with  a nation  for  heroes. 

The  movement  began  directly  after  midnight  on 
the  starlit  night  of  the  ninth  of  August.  The  tocsin 
gave  the  signal,  and,  by  the  dramatic  retribution  of 
Providence,  the  same  big  bell,  that  of  the  clock  of  St. 
Germain-d’Auxerrois,  which  had  chimed  for  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  and  the  downfall  of  the 
Huguenots,  now  sounded  the  death-knell  of  mon- 
archy. 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE, 


19 


Mademoiselle  Sans-G^ne  heard  the  bell,  the  tocsin, 
and  the  call  to  arms. 

She  was  among  the  firsh  to  put  her  pretty  face  and 
nose  out  of  the  window,  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
Dressed  in  a dainty  but  scanty  petticoat,  a thin  lact 
covering  over  her  fair  bosom  and  beating  heart,  and 
a love  of  a little  nightcap  on  her  head,  she  looked 
and  listened. 

And  then  she  thought,  not  so  much,  it  must  be 
confessed,  about  the  crisis  in  the  affairs  of  her  coun- 
try as  the  crisis  in  the  affairs  of  her  heart.  For 
already,  since  the  fricassee  at  the  Waux-Hall  ball, 
the  handsome  Sergeant  Lefebvre,  as  he  became  con- 
vinced that  there  was  no  other  way  to  obtain  her, 
had  asked  the  fair  laundress  to  become  his  wife,  and 
she  had  coyly,  but  satisfactorily,  consented. 

^‘We  have  not  much  to  begin  housekeeping  on,” 
said  she.  ‘‘True  I have  my  laundry — but  then  there 
are  my  bad  debts.” 

“And  I have  my  commission  and  my  soldier’s  pay,” 
said  he;  “but  then  my  pay  is  often  in  arrears.” 

“Never  mind,”  said  she;  “we  are  young,  we  love, 
and  we  have  the  future.  And  then  the  sorcerer  the 
other  night  prophesied  that  I should  be  a duchess.” 

“While  I — ” said  he,  “did  he  not  prophesy  that  I 
was  to  be  a duke?” 

“ Yes,”  laughed  Catherine;  “and  he  said  you  should 
marry  the  woman  you  love.” 

“Well,  let  me  make  sure  of  at  least,  at  once,” 
urged  Lefebvre. 

“Oh,  how  impatient  you  men  are,”  said  Catherine. 
“We  women  cannot  marry  at  once,  we  must  prepare.” 

“ ne  vois  pas  la  necessite^^^  laughed  the  hand- 
some sergeant.  “But  at  any  rate  let  us  fix  a date 
for  our  wedding.” 

“Well,”  answered  Catherine,  “when  the  tyrant 
falls.  How  will  that  suit  you?” 


20 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE. 


‘^Admirably!”  cried  Lefebvre,  “both  as  a man  and 
a patriot.  I hate  tyrants — look  at  this.” 

And  he  showed  her  his  arm  tattooed  with  two 
swords  crossed  with  a grenade  in  flames,  and  the 
legend:  “Death  to  tyrants!” 

Catherine  admired  the  tattooing — it  was  really  a 
work  of  art — she  would  have  touched  it,  patted  it 
and  the  arm. 

But  Lefebvre  drew  back,  “Don’t  touch  it — it  is 
fresh,”  he  cried.  “It  must  dry — but  in  a few  days 
you  shall  see,  on  this  very  arm,  something  finer  than 
even  this.” 

“What?”  asked  the  laundress  as  curiously  as 
tenderly. 

“My  wedding  gift,”  mysteriously  replied  the  ex- 
sergeant. 

No  more  was  said  on  the  subject  just  then,  but 
they  drank  gayly  together,  and  then  parted  quickly. 
That  is  to  say,  Catherine  having  been  escorted  by 
her  lover  from  the  tavern  to  her  bedroom,  darted 
into  the  latter,  and  closed  the  door  in  her  lover’s 
face. 

“You  cannot  enter  here,”  she  cried,  “until  you 
are  my  husband.” 

“And  that  will  be  when  the  tyrant  falls,”  re- 
sponded Lefebvre.  “Death  to  tyrants.” 

But  tyrants  take  some  time  to  die.  And  it  was 
therefore  quite  natural  that,  alike  as  a patriot  and  a 
woman,  Catherine  Sans-G^ne,  laundress,  had  been 
waiting  impatiently  for  such  an  uprising  as  was  tak- 
ing place  this  morning  of  the  tenth  of  August. 

The  tocsin,  the  bell,  the  chimes  of  the  clock,  the 
drum-beats  which  meant  the  end  to  the  king  and 
queen  of  France,  meant  the  beginning  of  bliss  to  one 
French  washerwoman. 

The  De  Profundis  of  royalty  was  her  wedding 
inarch. 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


21 


Two  of  Catherine’s  neighbors  in  their  nightdresses 
stood  beside  their  doors,  waiting  for  developments 
and  news. 

‘‘What  do  you  know,  neighbor?”  asked  one  of 
them,  across  the  street,  of  Mademoiselle  Sans-Gene. 

“Nothing  yet,”  she  answered,  “but  I shall  know 
everything  soon.”  She  was  thinking  of  Lefebvre, 
who  would  tell  her  all. 

And  even  while  she  thought  of  him,  he  came 
along,  breathless  with  running.  He  was  equipped 
and  armed,  but  he  laid  down  his  gun  to  embrace  his 
sweetheart. 

“Catherine,”  he  cried,  “ma  belle  blanchisseur^  how 
glad  I am  to  see  you.  It  is  getting  warm,  but  it 
will  be  warmer.  Meanwhile  remember  the  watch- 
word for  the  day  is,  ‘Long  live  the  nation.’  ” 

Then  he  told  Catherine  and  the  neighbors  the 
situation. 

An  attempt  had  been  made  to  assassinate  M. 
Petion,  the  mayor  of  Paris. 

The  people  had  seized  the  tyrant  for  a hostage — 
the  king’s  palace  was  a fortress.  The  Swiss  guards 
and  the  Chevaliers  du  Poignard  were  armed  to  the 
teeth,  and  were  sworn  to  kill  patriots.  Mandat, 
commander  of  the  National  Guards,  had  betrayed  the 
people,  and  had  been  shot  by  some  one  in  the  crowd. 

Then,  winding  his  arms  around  the  blushing  but 
willing  Catherine,  Lefebvre  exclaimed: 

“Nothing  can  now  stop  the  march  of  the  people. 
To-night  we  will  win,  and  to-morrow  we  will  marry. 
Ah!  see,  I have  your  wedding  gift  already.” 

And  baring  the  arm  he  showed  a second  tattooing — > 
two  hearts  aflame,  with  the  legend  underneath : “ To 
Catherine — for  life.” 

“Ah!”  cried  Catherine,  looking  at  it,  “it  is 
finer  than  the  other,”  and  she  clung  around  his  neck. 
The  prudish  laundress  had  melted  into  the  loving 


22 


MADAME  8AWS-GENE. 


woman.  ‘‘Oh,  my  own,  my  handsome  Lefebvre,” 
she  murmured,  “how  I love  thee!” 

But  at  this  moment  distant  shots  boomed  through 
the  heavy  air,  and  there  was  a roar  of  cannon. 

“I  must  away,  my  Catherine,”  her  lover  cried, 
embracing  her.  “Duty  calls;  but  becalm,  I shall  re- 
turn victorious.” 

He  seized  his  gun,  he  kissed  and  clasped  his  girly 
then  rushed  away  in  the  direction  of  the  Tuileries. 

Louis  XVI.  had  sought  refuge  in  the  National 
Assembly,  which  had  been  discussing  and  advocating 
the  abolition  of  negro  slavery  and  the  slave  trade — 
an  appropriate  subject  for  the  time.  While  the  der 
bate  was  going  on,  the  ill-fated  monarch,  it  is  re- 
corded, calmly  munched  a peach — oblivious  of,  or 
indifferent  to,  the  tragedy  around  him. 

It  had  been  a great  day!  The  night  before  had 
been  a great  night.  The  last  day  of  tyranny — the 
last  night  of  royalty.  Catherine  Sans-Gene,  washer- 
woman, had  received  from  her  betrothed  husband, 
ex-Sergeant  Lefebvre,  her  wedding  gift,  and  the 
Marseillaise,  chanting  their  immortal  hymn,  had  sal- 
lied forth  to  destroy  the  last  stronghold  of  feudalism. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

CATHERINE  AND  A CHEVALIER  DU  POIGNARD — 
THE  REPUBLICAN  AND  THE  ARISTOCRAT. 

The  cannon  roared  till  noon  around  the  Tuileries. 
Many  were  the  mutations  of  fortune  during  the 
memorable  day.  M.  Petion,  mayor  of  Paris,  had 
been  sent,  under  guard,  to  his  own  residence,  to  be 
kept  a prisoner  there  till  the  insurrection  was  over. 
Mandat  had  been  replaced  as  commander  of  the 
National  Guard  by  Santerre.  The  arsenal  had  been 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE. 


23 


forced  and  arms  distributed.  Louis  XVI.,  accom- 
panied by  his  faithful  Swiss  guards,  left  the  Tuileries 
and  demanded  safety  of  the  National  Assembly. 
These  loyal  Swiss  guards  had  expected  to  fight  a 
mob^  instead  of  which  they  found  that  they  had  to 
face  a people. 

Perhaps  blood  might  have  been  spared  that  day 
had  not,  by  some  sad  mistake,  a trouble  arisen  be- 
tween the  Swiss  guards,  who  were  really  well  in  ten- 
tioned,  but  not  so  well  informed,  and  the  multitude 
— a trouble  which  became  a massacre.  A friend  of 
Danton,  one  Westerman,  an  Alsatian,  commanded 
the  Marseilles  and  the  Breton  troops,  and  took  part 
in  the  emeute.  The  Swiss  fought  bravely,  but  were 
repulsed  and  killed,  and  when  the  trouble  terminated 
the  palace  was  in  the  hands  of  the  people,  and  the 
king  was  a prisoner. 

Catherine,  a little  before  noonday,  sallied  forth, 
hoping  to  meet  her  brave  lover.  She  was  not  afraid. 
Was  she  not  engaged  to  be  married  to  a soldier — • 
and  a hero  of  the  people?  Besides  she  wanted  to  see 
if  the  tyrant  would  not  yield  without  further  delay, 
so  that  she  could  get  married. 

As  for  the  chance  of  meeting  her  lover,  fighting, 
and  black  with  powder,  the  idea  positively  charmed 
her — made  her  glad — and  bold.  Was  she  not  to  be 
a soldier’s  Avife?  Even  now,  she  felt  she  ought  to 
be  near  him,  handing  him  cartridges,  loading  his 
musket,  herself  firing  a musket  with  him,  if  need 
be.  Already  she  felt  a warrior.  She  smelt  powder — 
she  sought  to  share  the  dangers  of  her  lover — she 
began  to  feel  jealous  of  his  glory.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  that  he  might  fall,  or  that  she  might  be  struck 
by  a bullet  from  the  Swiss.  No,  she  believed  in  the 
prophet  of  the  ball.  She  was  to  marry  Lefebvre, 
and  play  duchess  to  her  duke.  But  when  the  real 
trouble,  already  alluded  to,  with  the  Swiss  began, 


34 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


she  was  driven  back  by  the  crowd,  despite  her  efforts, 
and  pushed  along  the  Eue  Saint-Honore.  When  she 
thus  unwillingly  reached  her  laundry,  she  was  in  a 
rage  of  grief  as  well  as  mortification.  For  she  now 
began  to  fear  that  perhaps  things  might  not  go  all 
one  way,  and  that,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  a 
hero  and  her  lover,  Lefebvre  might  be  wounded,  ay, 
perchance  at  this  moment — how  her  heart  beat — 
dead.  ^ 

She  rushed  into  her  room,  and  waited  anxiously 
for  such  news  as  might  come  along.  She  heard  the 
cannon,  and  she  cheered  the  cannoneers.  But  still 
no  Lefebvre  came.  Had  he  rushed  in  then  she  her- 
self would  have  asked  him  to  be  married  at  once. 

She  closed  the  shutters  of  her  workroom;  she  was 
a prudent  woman,  and  there  was  no  telling  what 
might  happen. 

She  would  have  started  again  to  meet  Lefebvre, 
only  she  feared  that  she  might  miss  him  if  he  was 
seeking  her.  It  would  be  best  to  wait;  he  would 
return  by  the  Kue  Eoyal-Saint-Eoche,  as  soon  as  he 
and  his  comrades  had  taken  the  palace — it  was  a mere 
matter  of  time. 

The  street  was  now  quiet;  her  neighbors’  houses 
were  closed;  only  occasional  shots  were  heard,  and 
occasional  fugitives  seen — the  last  defenders  of  the 
palace,  hunted  down  though  the  streets. 

Suddenly  she  heard  three  shots  in  quick  succession, 
and  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  alleyway,  leading 
to  one  of  the  doors  of  her  laundry,  on  the  Eue 
Saint-Honore. 

Despite  of  herself  the  laundress  began  to  tremble. 
She  was  only  a woman  and  alone.  There’s  some 
one  in  the  alleyway,”  she  said.  “Who  can  it  be?” 
Then,  thinking  of  Lefebvre,  and  recovering  her 
bravery,  she  took  down  the  bar  fastening  the  entrance 
to  the  alleyway,  and  opened  the  door. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


25 


She  saw  a wounded  man,  holding  his  hand  to  his 
breast.  He  wore  a white  uniform,  knee  breeches 
and  silk  stockings;  his  clothes  were  blood-stained;  he 
could  scarcely  drag  himself  along.  She  saw  at  once 
that,  whoever  he  was,  he  wasnot  a ‘‘patriot” — he  was 
“an  enemy  to  the  people” — still  he  certainly  was  a 
wounded  man. 

“Who  are  you?  and  what  do  you  want  here?”  she 
asked  firmly. 

“I  am  a victim,”  the  man  gasped;  “they  seek  me; 
give  me  shelter,  for  heaven’s  sake.  I am  an  Aus- 
trian officer — I am  the  Count  of  Neipperg.”  He 
frothed  at  the  mouth — he  could  say  no  more,  and 
fell  in  the  alleyway. 

Catherine  cried  from  fright  and  pity.  Then  she 
said : “ Poor  boy ! they  have  settled  thee,  yes — ” 
surveying  him  as  he  lay,  his  fine  coat  and  vest  stained 
with  blood.  “Thou  art  an  aristocrat — thou  hast 
fired  on  the  people — thou  art  no  Frenchman — but 
an  Austrian — but  thou  art  a 

And  then,  that  sweet,  good,  kindly  instinct  which 
is  to  be  found  in  even  the  most  energetic  woman — 
that  “sister  of  charity”  which  nestles  in  the  breast 
of  even  a warrior-maid — took  possession  of  the  laun- 
dress, heart  and  soul — and,  beside  that  wounded 
man,  our  Catherine  knelt,  and  touching  his  breast, 
as  gently  as  though  it  had  been  her  own  Lefebvre’s, 
she  endeavored  to  ascertain  if  he  still  lived. 

“He  breathes,”  she  almost  shouted  with  joy,  at 
last;  “he  lives,  and  I can  save  him — perhaps,”  she 
added. 

First  she  closed  the  alley  door — as  a precaution 
against  interruption — then  she  went  to  one  of  the 
laundry  troughs  and  filled  a large  bowl  with  fresh 
water,  and  lastly,  returning  to  the  wounded  man, 
she  made  a compress  of  some  linen  lying  close  at 
hand. 


26 


MADAME  SAM8--GEME. 


In  her  haste  she  had  not,  till  too  late,  noticed  that 
she  had  torn  up  one  of  her  customer’s  shirts  for 
the  compress. 

‘‘A  pretty  mess  I’ve  made  of  it,”  she  said  to  her- 
self. She  looked  at  the  mark  on  the  shirt — ‘‘worse 
luck!”  she  cried,  “it  belongs  to  that  poor  artillery 
oflScer,  Captain  Napoleon  Bonaparte — who  has  none 
too  many — besides,  he  already  owes  me  a big  bill — 
let  it  go  against  the  shirt  I’ve  torn.  No,  no,  that 
wouldn’t  be  fair.  I’ll  get  him  a new  shirt,  all  the 
same.  I’ll  tell  him  I burned  the  old  one  with  my 
iron.  But  he’s  so  proud — as  proud  as  poor — perhaps 
he  won’t  take  it.  Ah!  he  is  a man  who  will  never 
make  his  laundress  rich.  He  cares  so  little  for 
clothes — about  as  little  as  he  cares  for  women.” 

Here  the  laundress  heaved  a gentle  sigh.  If  Le- 
febvre  had  but  heard  it!  But  she  went  on  with  her 
compress,  which  she  neatly  applied  to  her  unexpected 
visitor’s  wounds. 

The  sight  of  this  man’s  sufferings  had  transformed 
Catherine  from  an  Amazon  in  petticoats  into  a min- 
istering angel.  She  could  almost  have  cursed  Avar 
and  warriors,  as  she  saw  his  wounds,  had  she  not 
thought  of  the  French  tyrant-king  and  his  Austrian 
woman — Madame  Veto-— and  of  her  own  particular 
pet  warrior,  Lefebvre. 

She  looked  at  the  wounded  man  with  renewed 
attention,  as  she  bathed  him  with  cold  water,  and 
bandaged  his  wounds.  “He  is  young — looks  like 
a girl — but  how  fine  his  linen  is!”  she  exclaimed, 
glancing  at  his  shirt  with  a professional  eye.  “ He 
is  a beastly  aristocrat.”  Then  she  softly  added, 
“more’s  the  pity.” 

Under  her  healing  influences  the  wounded  man, 
recovering  his  senses,  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
around  him,  as  if  searching  for  something.  He  saw 
a woman  he  had  never  seen  before — a French  woman. 


MADAME  8ANS-QENE. 


27 


He  attempted  feebly  to  arise.  His  confused  fancy 
converted  his  benefactress  into  a dangerous  enemy. 
‘^Do  not  kill  me,”  he  begged. 

“Ah!”  he  continued,  looking  at  her  more  calmly, 
“you  must  be  the  laundress,  Catherine  ITpscher,  of 
Saint-Amarin — to  seek  whom  I came  here.” 

Catherine,  astonished  beyond  measure,  merely 
nodded  assent  to  her  identity. 

“Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  sent  me  to  you,”  said 
the  stranger,  speaking  more  firmly. 

“What!  Mademoiselle  Blanche  de  Laveline? — did 
she  send  you  to  me?”  cried  Catherine.  “She  is  the 
daughter  of  the  Seigneur  de  Saint-Amarin — she  is 
my  protector.  She  it  was  who  got  me  this  very 
laundry.  You  know  her,  then?” 

“Yes,”  answered  the  stranger,  on  whom  Catherine 
now  looked  almost  as  a friend,  “she  told  me  in 
case  of  any  trouble  to  seek  you.  She  told  me  you 
were  good,  that  you*would  aid  me  in  my  need.  I 
will  explain  later.” 

“No  need  for  any  explanations,”  answered  Cath- 
erine softly,  almost  tenderly.  “You  are  her  friend, 
and  there’s  no  peril  I would  not  brave  for  her.  You 
were  right  to  come  straight  here,  mon  (She 

called  this  enemy  of  the  people,  this  aristocrat,  “my 
friend.”)  “You  are  safer  here  than  anywhere  else 
in  Paris  to-day.  He  who  would  find  you  here  to 
harm  you  must  do  so  over  my  dead  body.” 

The  wounded  man  became  excited  at  her  earnest 
words,  but  Catherine  calmed  him.  “Lie  still,”  she 
said,  “dismiss  all  fear;  no  one  will  kill  you.”  Then 
adopting  an  almost  motherly  tone  she  added:  “Mad- 
emoiselle Blanche  will  be  content  to  trust  you  to  my 
care,  although  1 am  a patriot.” 

She  uttered  the  last  sentence  proudly,  but  she  re- 
proved herself,  in  a manner,  for  her  pride.  “It  is 
thrown  away,”  she  said  to  herself;  “he  is  only  an 


28 


MADAME  SAJSrS-GENE. 


Austrian,  and  an  Austrian  don’t  even  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word  patriot.  There  are  no  patriots 
among  them — they  are  all  subjects,  all  slaves.”  The 
little  laundress  was  just  then  a thorough  Parisian, 
despising  the  rest  of  the  world.  Then  taking  the 
wounded  man’s  hand  she  pressed  it  lightly.  “You 
are  with  a friend,”  she  said. 

The  Count  Neipperg  fainted  away  from  excess  of 
joy,  then,  coming  to,  he  smiled  happily,  and  with 
his  still  cold  and  blood-stained  hand,  pressed  Cather- 
ine’s warmly. 

Tears  welled  in  Catherine’s  eyes.  She  was  deeply 
affected,  but  she  mastered  her  feelings.  She  looked 
at  the  grateful  sufferer.  ^ 

“If  I could  but  carry  him  to  bed,”  she  thought; 
“he  would  lie  more  comfortably,  but  I am  not  strong 
enough  to  carry  him,  and  he  cannot  help  himself. 
Oh,  if  Lefebvre  were  only  here  to  help  me.  Why 
does  he  not  come!  Mo7i  Dieu!  can  it  be?” 

She  would  not  even  finish  her  terrible  thought  to 
herself.  She  would  not  even  think  that  possibly  at 
this  very  moment  her  lover  might  be  lying  wounded, 
like  this  man — but  unlike  this  man,  with  no  Cather- 
ine beside  him. 

But  she  grew  cold  with  fright.  “How  terrible  is 
war,”  she  cried ; but  soon  her  native  energy  and  hope- 
fulness came  to  her  rescue.  “Bah!”  she  thought, 
“ my  big  Lefebvre  is  not  like  this  little  aristocrat.  He 
is  a man,  not  a boy.  And  besides,  he  is  a perfect 
receptacle  for  bullets.  Why,  I dare  say  he  would 
take  half  a dozen  into  him  without  a whimper.  He  is 
not  cut  out  of  the  same  stuff  as  this  young  sprig, 
who  has  dared  to  defend  Madame  Veto,  and  who  has 
fired  on  the  people.  Bad  luck  to  him ! 

“No,  I won’t  wish  him  any  harm,”  thought  Ma- 
demoiselle Sans-Gene;  “he  couldn’t  help  being  a fool. 
And  then  he  is  a friend  of  Mademoiselle  Blanche.  It 


MADAME  SANS-GEim 


is  impossible  to  leave  him  here  and  thns — he  will  die. 
But  he  must  live.  Perhaps  the  little  fellow  is  be- 
trothed to  Mademoiselle  Blanche.”  Here  the  laun- 
dress laughed.  ‘‘It  would  be  funny,”  she  reflected, 
“if  I should  help  her  to  marry  when  she  promised 
to  help  along  my  marriage  at  any  time  by  giving  me 
a dowry.  Well,  one  good  turn  deserves  another. 
At  any  rate  I must  save  this  young  man,  but  how  on 
earth  can  I carry  him  into  the  house?  Why  don’t 
Lefebvre  come?” 

And  she  looked  around  as  if  expecting  him — in 
vain. 

Suddenly  she  blushed,  though  there  were  none  to 
see  her,  the  Austrian’s  eyes  being  at  that  moment 
closed. 

“Perhaps  it’s  just  as  well,  all  round,  that  Lefebvre 
has  not  come — just  yet.  He’s  as  jealous  as  a tiger, 
and  what  wouldn’t  he  say,  or  do,  if  he  saw  me  with 
this  man?”  so  she  thought.  “Not  that  he  would 
blame  me  too  much  for  nursing  a wounded  aristocrat. 
He  wouldn’t  like  it,  of  course,  but  when  he  knew  all, 
and  that  this  Austrian  was  a friend  of  my  best  friend 
it  would  be  all  right.  Besides,  a French  soldier  has 
no  foe  after  a fight.  But  he  wouldn’t  like  me  to  be 
playing  nurse  to  this  man,  dressing  his  wounds — and 
then  he  might  wonder  how  on  earth  this  little  fellow 
knew  where  I lived.  Of  course  I could  answer  all 
his  questions,  but  nevertheless,  on  the  whole,”  she 
confessed  to  herself,  “I  would  rather  Lefebvre  didn’t 
see  me  now — so  I must  carry  my  Austrian  into  the 
house  alone.” 

But  the  Austrian  though  little  was  heavy,  and  be- 
coming unconscious  became  heavier.  Catherine  tried 
to  lift  him  but  could  not. 

At  that  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the  street 
door.  Catherine,  now  as  pale  as  the  wounded  man, 
found  herself  trembling. 


30 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


‘‘Who  can  it  be?”  she  wondered.  “My  laundry  is 
closed,  besides,  who  would  want  washing  done  on 
such  a day?” 

The  sound  of  muskets  was  heard  on  the  stones. 
There  were  more  knocks  at  the  door.  Voices  were 
heard. 

Some  one  shouted:  “He  is  safe  by  this  time.” 

Others  shouted:  “He  is  hidden  here. 

“Alas!  they  are  still  seeking  him,”  thought  Cath- 
erine, and  she  shuddered.  Her  eyes  filled  with  pity 
as  she  looked  upon  the  unconscious  sufferer  at  her  side. 

There  seemed  to  be  two  sets  of  opposing  voices  in 
the  crowd  outside;  the  shuffling  of  feet  became  no- 
ticeable. Some  one  cried : “Force  the  door.” 

“Oh,  how  shall  I save  him?”  almost  groaned 
Catherine.  Finally,  shaking  the  man,  who  now 
seemed  to  be  dying,  she  said  to  him : “ Come,  citizen ; 
come  monsieur,  courage;  try  to  stand  up— try  to 
walk.” 

The  Austrian  opened  his  eyes,  then  closed  them 
again.  “I  cannot  walk,”  he  said,  in  a stifled  voice. 
“ Let  me  die!” 

Catherine  felt  like  growling.  “Oh,  he  wants  to 
die  now,  does  he?  Have  a little  energy,  sir,”  she 
said;  ‘^ciel!  remember,  monsieur,  your  friend,  Made- 
moiselle de  Laveline,  never  sent  you  to  me  to  die — 
you  must  live — -I  must  keep  you  alive  for  her,  at  any 
rate.  So  get  up — so — ah! — that’s  the  way— up — 
up — you  see  it  is  not  so  very  hard  after  all,  only  a 
little  will-power,  you  see?” 

No,  he  did  not  see,  nor  did  Catherine  see  either. 

The  Austrian  staggered  like  a drunken  man.  It 
took  more  than  the  laundress’  strength  to  support 
him.  Meanwhile  the  noise  without  increased.  The 
cries,  the  threats,  the  oaths  redoubled,  then  the 
crowd  beat  at  the  door  with  their  bayonets,  and 
made  the  building  shake. 


MADAME  SAMB-GEMR 


31 


Suddenly  a well-known  voice  brought  the  blood 
into  Catherine’s  veins,  the  blush  of  love  into  her 
cheeks.  She  heard  Lefebvre  cry  to  the  crowd: 
‘‘That  door,  citizens,  shall  be  opened  for  you,  but  by 
me — let  me  pass.  Catherine,  it  is  I — have  no  fear; 
come,  open  the  door,”  he  called  to  her  in  his  manliest, 
tenderest,  but  firmest  tones. 

“I  am  coming,  Lefebvre,”  answered  Catherine, 
yet  she  came  not. 

“I  can  hear  her,”  said  Lefebvre  outside  to  the 
crowd  around  the  door;  “a  little  patience,  and  she 
will  open  to  you.  You  frightened  her  by  your  ob- 
streperous demands — give  her  time.” 

Meanwhile,  inside  the  house,  in  the  entry  from 
the  alley,  the  laundress  was  entreating  the  Austrian 
nobleman  to  further  exertion. 

“Did  you  not  hear  them?”  she  said.  “They  are 
coming  in  here;  I must  open  to  them,  and  you  must 
get  up  those  stairs.  I will  hide  you  in  the  garret.” 

While  the  wounded  man  only  moaned,  and  asked: 
“How  high  is  it?”  and  said,  “1  cannot  climb,  I can- 
not see — shall  fall.” 

“Well,  what  must  be,  must,”  said-  Catherine  des- 
perately. “Fall  there,  in  my  bedroom,  then,”  open- 
ing her  chamber  door,  helping  the  Austrian  to  enter 
it,  and  then  locking  the  door  upon  him. 

She  blushed  as  she  did  so.  It  was  the  first  time  a 
man  had  ever  entered  her  bedchamber,  and  now  she 
had  locked  a strange  man  in  it. 

Then  breathless  and  happy,  as  well  as  confused 
and  anxious,  she  rushed  to  the  door  and  gave  en- 
trance and  welcome  to  Lefebvre,  thinking  gleefully 
to  herself  that  the  other  man  was  safe. 


32 


MADAME  SAMS-GENE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  MAK  IKSIDE  THE  BEDROOM  AND  THE  MAN 
OUTSIDE. 

When ‘the  bar  was  removed,  the  bolt  drawn,  and 
the  door  opened,  Lefebvre  entered,  along  with  sev- 
eral members  of  the  National  Guard,  and  a crowd  of 
women  and  children,  neighbors  and  idlers. 

^MVhy  were  you  so  slow  in  opening  to  us,  my 
sweet  Catherine?”  asked  Lefebvre,  as  he  kissed  her 
rapturously,  on  both  her  cheeks. 

‘‘My!  such  noise!  such  yells!” 

“Yes,  I know,  you  were  frightened;  but  they  were 
friends  and  patriots  who  knocked.  We  are  victors, 
Catherine,  victorious  everywhere.  The  nation’s 
tyrant  is  now  the  nation’s  prisoner.  The  fortress  of 
despotism  has  been  conquered  by  the  free,  and  to-day 
the  people  are  the  masters.” 

“Long  live  the  nation!”  cried  some.  Others 
shouted:  “Death  to  traitors!”  “To  perdition  with 
the  Swiss!”  “Destruction  to  the  Chevaliers  du 
Poignard!”  while  a Chevalier  du  Poignard  lay  within 
a few  feet  of  them,  in  Catherine’s  bedchamber. 

“Yes,  death  to  those  who  have  fired  on  the  peo- 
ple!” shouted  Lefebvre.  Then  to  Catherine  and  more 
gently:  “Do  you  know  why  we  came  so  rudely  to 
your  rooms?” 

“No,”  she  replied,  “but  I was  afraid;  I have  heard 
shooting  near  here.” 

“Yes,”  said  he,  “we  were  firing  just  now  at  an 
aristocrat  who  has  escaped  from  the  Tuileries,  a 
Chevalier  du  Poignard  who  assassinates  patriots.  I 
swore  that  if  he  fell  into  my  hands  his  blood  should 
atone  for  ours;  but  as  we  fired  and  pursued  him  he 
vanished — here  at  the  turn  of  the  street.  But  he 
must  be  wounded,  and  as  there  was  blood  beside 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


33 


your  al/ey  door  we  thought  he  might  have  found  a 
hiding  here;  but  he  is  not  here,  else  we  could  see 
him.  Besides  you  can  make  it  certain,  can  you  not?” 

He  looked  around  him,  then  at  Catherine — then 
he  turned  to  the  National  Guards. 

^‘Comrades,  we — at  least  you — have  nothing  more 
to  do  here  now,  for  the  white  uniform  is  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  With  your  leave,  you  will  permit  me,  as 
one  of  the  victors  of  the  Tuileries,  to  embrace  my 
wife  in  private.” 

‘‘Oh,  not  yet  your  wife^  Lefebvre,”  protested 
Catherine,  smiling. 

“How  so — ^why  not?”  insisted  Lefebvre;  “is  not 
the  tyrant  already  done  for?”  and  he  waved  his  hand 
to  the  guards. 

“Comrades,”  he  said,  “later  on,  at  the  section,  we 
must  appoint  a captain,  two  lieutenants,  and  a curate. 
Our  last  curate  ran  away,  and  the  other  officers  were 
killed  by  the  Swiss,  but  we  can  find  others.  But 
now,  au  revoirP'* 

The  guards  departed,  yet  the  crowds  still  sur- 
rounded the  door.  Lefebvre,  though  somewhat 
impatient  to  be  alone  with  Catherine,  spoke  to  them 
softly  and  pleasantly:  “What  are  you  waiting  for?” 
he  said.  “For  the  man  in  white?  you  see  ho  is  not 
here  with  her;  so  much  is  clear.  He  must  have 
fallen  by  the  way — some  distance  perhaps  from  here 
— he  had  at  least  three  bullets  in  his  breast;  look  for 
him,  do  for  him — that  is  your  affair.  No  true  hunter 
gives  up  his  game.  Once  more,  au  revoirP^ 

And  the  ex-sergeant  fairly  drove  the  crowd 
away. 

They  went  off  muttering.  “Well,  we’ll  go  after 
him,”  said  one. 

“ It  is  not  so  easy  a thing  after  all  to  turn  the  world 
upside  down,”  said  another,  thinking  of  the  events  of 
the  day.  “But,”  before  going  away  he  added  in  a 


34 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


whisper  to  Lefebvre,  glancing  at  Catherine’s  bedroom 
door,  ‘^couldn’t  somebody  be  concealed  there 

Lefebvre  comprehended  the  fellow’s  meaning,  and 
was  at  first  inclined  to  resent  his  insinuation,  but  he 
quickly  closed  the  street  door  on  him  with  the 
others. 

At  last  the  lovers  were  alone.  With  open  arms 
Lefebvre  clasped  his  Catherine  to  his  breast.  ‘‘I 
thought  they’d  nev.er  go,”  he  said;  ‘^but  did  you 
hear  his  impudence — concealed  in  your  bedroom, 
indeed — your  bedroom — what  an  idea!  But  how  you 
tremble,  Catherine!  Come,  be  calm — it’s  all  over; 
let  us  think  only  of  each  other.” 

But  Catherine  was  thinking  just  then  of  the  other 
man.  And  involuntarily  her  eyes  turned  toward  the 
room  where  that  other  was  concealed.  Lefebvre 
noticed  the  direction  of  Catherine’s  eyes.  Instinc- 
tively he  went  toward  the  bedroom  to  enter  it,  but  he 
could  not.  The  door  was  locked.  Lefebvre  paused, 
astonished,  uneasy,  almost  alarmed.  A vague  sus- 
picion crossed  his  mind.  Could,  after  all,  a man 
be  concealed  there? 

‘‘Why  is  that  door  closed?”  asked  Lefebvre. 

“Because  I wanted  it  to  be,”  answered  Catherine. 

“That  is  no  reason  for  you — for  me,”  he  said; 
“give  me  the  key.” 

“You  shall  not  have  it,”  she  said  distinctly,  yet 
with  evident  embarrassment. 

Lefebvre  turned  white  with  rage.  “Catherine,” 
he  cried,  “you  are  deceiving  me,  there  is  some  one — 
some  man — in  your  room — your  bedroom.  I must 
have  that  key.” 

“And  I have  already  said,”  she  spoke  calmly  and 
clearly  now,  “you  shall  not  have  it.” 

“Well,  then,”  he  shouted,  almost  beside  himself 
with  anger,  “I  shall  take  it.” 

As  he  spoke  he  forced  his  hand  into  the  laundress’ 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


35 


apron  pocket,  took  the  key  out  of  it,  opened  the 
door  of  the  bedroom  with  it,  and  glanced  within. 

^‘Lefebvre,”  cried  Catherine,  speaking  as  quietly 
yet  as  solemnly  as  a judge  pronouncing  sentence,  “ I 
have  already  told  you  that  no  man  until  after  he  is 
my  husband  shall  go  through  that  door.  Enter 
through  it  now  by  force,  and  you  will  never  enter  it 
again  with  meA^ 

At  this  critical  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the 
outer  door.  Catherine  opened  it. 

Several  men  stood  waiting.  ‘‘Where  is  Sergeant 
Lefebvre?”  one  of  them  asked  of  Catherine.  “He 
is  wanted  at  the  section.  They  talk  of  making  him 
lieutenant.” 

Speechless  and  pale,  Lefebvre  stepped  back  from 
Catherine’s  bedroom  door,  but  he  had  already  seen 
a sick  man  in  it  lying  apparently  lifeless  on  the  bed. 

He  now  relocked  the  door  of  Catherine’s  bed- 
chamber, and  returned  the  key  to  Catherine,  simply 
saying : 

“ Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  a wounded  man 
was  there?” 

“Ah!  you  know  all  now,”  exclaimed  the  girl, 
greatly  relieved.  Then  she  added  sorrowfully : “ Poor 
lad — will  he  die?” 

“No,  I think  he  will  live,”  said  Lefebvre,  now 
calm.  “He  did  not  come  as  a lover— assure  me  of 
that,  at  least,”  he  added,  his  jealousy  for  a moment 
asserting  itself. 

“You,  you  brute cried  Catherine,  half  indig- 
nantly, half  playfully,  “had  he  been  my  lover 
think  you  I would  have  hidden  him  in  my  bedroom 
and  let  you  in?  But  promise  me,”  she  asked  plead- 
ingly, “you  will  not  give  him  up.  Eeraember, 
though  he  is  an  Austrian,  he  is  also  the  friend  of 
my  friend.  Mile.  Blanche  de  Laveliue — my  dearest 
friend,  my  benefactress.” 


36 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


‘^Oh,  a wounded  man  is  sacred,”  answered  Lefeb- 
Tre;  ‘^your  bedroom  now,  my  Catherine,  is  an  ambu- 
lance— none  dare  disturb  it.  Nurse  the  poor  devil! 
Save  him ! I am  ready  to  help  you  pay  your  debt  to 
that  lady  who  has  been  your  friend.  But  keep  the 
matter  secret;  gratify  your  kindly  heart,  but  hold 
your  woman’s  tongue,  that  none  may  ever  even  guess. 
It  would  ruin  me,  in  my  section.” 

“Spoken  like  a man,  true  and  brave,”  cried  Cath- 
erine, embracing  Lefebvre.  “You  have  my  promise. 
When  you  are  ready  I am  your  wife.” 

“Well  said  and  quickly  done,  my  Catherine,”  said 
her  lover.  “But  hear!  the  men  outside  are  calling 
for  me — they  grow  impatient.  I must  go  with  my 
friends.” 

One  more  embrace  and  he  was  gone. 

And  while  Sergeant  Lefebvre  went  to  the  election 
at  the  section,  Catherine  Sans-G^ne,  laundress, 
tended  the  young  Austrian  who  was  now  her  sacred 
charge,  for  the  sake  of  her  benefactress,  Blanche 
de  Laveline. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LITTLE  BENRIOT,  OR  MAN’S  LOVE  AND  WOMAN’S 
GRATITUDE. 

Catherine  brought  bouillon  and  wine  to  the  sick 
man,  and,  as  he  awakened  at  the  sound  of  her  step, 
she  gave  them  to  him,  saying:  “Take,  and  grow 
stronger.  You  will  need  strength,  for  you  must  know 
that  you  cannot  stay  here  much  longer.  Of  course, 
I do  not  send  you  away,  for  you  are  here  as  the 
guest  of  my  benefactress.  Mademoiselle  Blanche. 
But  then  there  are  so  many  outsiders  who  come  to 
my  laundry — my  fellow-workers,  my  customers,  and 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


37 


the  rest,  that  there  would  be  talk  aud  trouble.  And 
then  remember,  man,  you  have  fired  on  the  people.’^ 

Neipperg  moved  uneasilj,  then  said  slowly:  “We 
defended  the  king.” 

“The  king!”  cried  patriotic  Catherine,  shrugging 
her  plump  shoulders;  “you  mean  ‘the  big  Veto!’  Ho 
took  refuge  with  the  Assembly — he  was  all  safe  and 
quiet — but  he  let  you  fight  it  out.  He  is  a good-for- 
nothing  idler,  this  big  Veto  of  yours — and  his  jade 
of  a wife  leads  him  by  the  nose — and  do  you  know 
where  she  is  leading  him? — before  the  guns  of  the 
people.  But,”  she  asked,  after  a pause,  “you  are  a 
stranger,  what  were  you  fighting  for,  here  in  Paris — 
you  an  Austrian?” 

“I  was  charged,  as  lieutenant  of  the  noble  guards 
of  his  majesty,  with  a mission  to  the  queen,”  was  his 
reply. 

“Oh,  the  Austrian  woman,”  sneered  Catherine; 
“so  it  was  for  her  you  fought — you  who  have  nothing 
on  earth  to  do  with  our  troubles!” 

“I  wanted  to  die,”  exclaimed  the  young  man.  He 
spoke  simply,  and  like  a man  who  meant  what  he 
said. 

“To  die!”  cried  Catherine,  “at  your  age — for  a 
king — or  a queen — or  anybody.  There’s  some  mys- 
tery about  all  this,  young  man,”  she  continued,  smil- 
ing. “ Excuse  me,  monsieur,  if  I seem  too  emphatic, 
but  when  one  is  twenty  years  old,  or  so,  and  wants 
to  die,  fighting,  among  men  he  doesn’t  know — and 
against  whom  he  has  no  reason  to  fight — why  then 
one  must  be  in  love.  Come  now,  have  I guessed* 
aright?” 

“You  have,  my  good  hostess.” 

“Good  gracious!”  said  Catherine,  “it  was  not  hard 
to  guess.  Well,  then,  shall  I tell  you  with  whom 
you  are  in  love?  Why,  with  Mademoiselle  Blanche 
de  Laveline,  to  be  sure.”  The  wounded  man  seemed 


38 


MADAME  SANS-GEME. 


to  wince.  ‘‘Oh,  I do  not  ask  your  confidence,”  con- 
tinued Catherine  quickly ; “ it  is  none  of  my  business, 
but  I know  that  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  is  worthy 
of  your  love — or  any  man’s.” 

At  these  words  the  Count  de  Neipperg  raised  him- 
self slightly  and  exclaimed  fervently:  “Yes,  she  is 
good — ray  darling  Blanche— as  good  as  she  is  beauti- 
ful. Oh,  madame,”  he  continued,  seizing  Cather- 
ine’s hand,  “if  I die,  tell  her  that  with  my  last  sigh 
I breathed  her  name;  tell  her,  will  you  not,  that  my 
last  thought  was  for  her — and  for ” 

He  paused  abruptly;  some  secret  was  rising  to  his 
lips,  but  it  remained  unrevealed. 

“Oh,  you  will  not  die  just  yet,”  said  Catherine, 
all  anxiety  to  comfort  him.  “ Who  dies  at  your  time 
of  life  when  he  is  in  love?  You  must  live,  my  man 
— live  for  the  woman  you  love — and  for — for  that 
other  person  you  were  going  to  name — her  father, 
was  it  not — Marquis  de  Laveline?  He’s  a very  fine 
old  gentleman,  if  he  is  an  aristocrat.  I have  seen 
him  several  times,  in  Alsace.  He  wore  a blue  velvet 
coat  all  embroidered  with  gold,  and  he  carried  such 
a snuff-box — with  jewels  that  sparkled  like  stars!” 

But  Neipperg  frowned,  and  smiled  contemptuously 
when  he  heard  the  name  of  the  Marquis  de  Laveline. 
Evidently  Catherine  had  not  guessed  aright,  so  far 
as  the  marquis  and  this  stranger  were  concerned.  “ It 
seems,”  thought  Catherine,  “that  those  two  are  not 
friends.  AVell,  it  may  be  well  to  know  this;  I shall 
not  mention  the  marquis  again.  Perhaps  the  old 
gentleman,  Blanche’s  father,  is  opposed  to  the  match. 
Poor  girl ! poor  fellow ! that  was  why  he  wanted  to  die.” 

And,  with  a sigh  of  pity,  sincere  pity,  felt  by  a 
love-happy  woman  for  the  love  unhappy,  she  ar- 
ranged the  “poor  fellow’s”  pillow,  and,  blaming 
herself  for  having  talked  to  him  too  much,  begged 
him  to  go  to  sleep. 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


39 


‘‘No,  no,”  said  the  sick  man,  earnestly  but  gently, 
“talk  to  me  more — talk  to  me  of  Blanche — tell  me 
all  yon  know  about  her — that  will  cure  me.” 

Catherine  smiled  at  his  words,  and  then  sitting 
down  told  him  how  she  had  been  born  on  a farm 
near  the  castle  of  the  Seigneur  de  Laveline,  where 
she  had  seen  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline  grow  up,  and 
learned  to  love  her.  B'lanche  had  been  reared  in  the 
country,  became  a splendid  horsewoman,  mingled 
freely  with  the  country  people,  was  never  proud,  and 
had  become  attached  to  Catherine.  Finally  Cather- 
ine had  been  taken  into  the  household  service  of  the 
Laveline  ladies,  and  when  Blanche’s  mother  died, 
and  Blanche  and  her  father  went  to  England,  the 
marquis  having  received  a diplomatic  appointment, 
before  going  to  London  Mademoiselle  Blanche  had 
set  up  Catherine  in  the  laundry  business  in  Paris. 
“Oh,  she  is  indeed  a creature  who  deserves  to  be 
beloved  and  blessed,”  said  the  grateful  Catherine. 

Then  some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  Could  it  be 
Lefebvre,  with  his  comrades?  how  inopportune! 
The  wounded  man  pricked  his  ears.  Catherine  be- 
came uneasy,  but  she  kept  cool.  “Best  quietly, 
and  make  no  noise,”  she  said.  “If  Lefebvre  is  alone 
there  is  no  danger,  but  if  his  comrades  are  with  him 
I will  send  them  all  away.  Do  as  I bid  you,  but  do 
not  be  afraid.” 

Then  she  resolutely  opened  the  door. — no  Lefebvre 
was  there — no  man  was  there — only  one  young  woman 
— veiled.  Catherine  was  astonished,  but  her  surprise 
increased  when  the  young  woman  staggered  into  the 
room,  crying  out:  “He  is  here,  is  he  not?  They 
said  they  saw  a man  drag  himself  in  here.  Is  he 
still  alive?”  Catherine  recognized  the  tones  of  her 
voice,  and  when  the  stranger  lifted  her  veil  she  saw 
Mademoiselle  Blanche  de  Laveline.  The  laundress 
understood  all. 


40 


MADAME  8ANS-GEME. 


“Yes,  he  is  here — in  ray  room,”  she  said;  “he 
lives — and  he  loves  you — he  lives  for  and  loves  you 
only — speaks  of  you  only — come  and  see  him.” 

“Oh,  my  good  Catherine,”  cried  Blanche  de  Lave- 
line,  as  she  embraced  the  laundress,  “what  a happy 
inspiration  it  was  for  me  to  send  him  here!  Take 
me  to  him.” 

The  sight  of  Blanche  startled  the  wounded  man 
into  energetic  life.  He  leaped  from  his  bed,  but  the 
the  two  women  forced  him  into  it  again,  by  gentle 
force.  He  showered  kisses  on  his  lady  love — he  was 
transported.  Catherine  smiled  and  would  have  left 
them  to  themselves,  but  Blanche  de  Laveline  insisted 
that  she  should  remain.  The  lovers  had  no  secrets 
now  from  her,  beside  they  needed  her,  as  will  be  seen. 

The  Marquis  de  Laveline  had  frowned  upon  the 
suit  of  the  Count  de  Neipperg  for  his  daughter’s 
hand.  He  had  destined  her,  for  his  own  aggran- 
dizement, to  become  the  wife  of  a Belgian  millionaire, 
a Baron  de  Lowendaal — a heavy  creditor — who  de- 
manded either  his  daughter  or  his  dues.  Loving  the 
young  count,  but  submissive  to  her  father,  like  most 
French  girls,  Mademoiselle  Blanche  had  promised  to 
become  the  wife  of  the  baron,  even  while  yielding 
herself  to  the  count.  The  day  of  the  marriage  to 
the  baron  had  been  fixed — yet  the  nobly-born  made- 
moiselle had  given  her  lover  the  address  of  her  former 
servant,  and  protege,  the  laundress  in  Paris,  that  he 
might  meet  her  there  by  stealth,  after  marriage. 

Distracted  at  his  prospects  the  count  had  taken 
military  service  at  the  Tuileries  while  the  woman  he 
loved  ostensibly  prepared  for  her- marriage  to  another 
man.  But  the  chapter  of  accidents  had  favored  the 
count.  The  baron  had  left  Paris,  frightened  at  the 
coming  revolution,  and  the  marriage  had  been  post- 
poned. It  was,  according  to  present  arrangements, 
to  take  place  at  the  baron’s  country  seat,  near  Jem- 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


41 


mapas,  on  the  Belgian  frontier — whither  the  young 
girl  had  promised  shortly  to  accompany  her  father. 
But  meanwhile  she  had  secretly  sent  a letter  to  her 
would-be  husband  telling  of  her  love  for  another 
man — and,  come  whatever  would,  she  now  vowed 
never  to  be  the  baron’s  bride.  She  might  promise 
to  wed  him  all  the  time,  but  she  would  wed  him 
never — she  swore  it. 

‘‘Oh,  my  darling  Blanche,”  cried  the  count,  when 
he  heard  her  solemn  protestation;  “my  beloved  wife 
— whom  I adore.  You  give  me  back  my  life — now!” 
he  almost  shouted,  “I  can  fight  the  canaille — I can 
kill  those  sans-cnlottes.'^^ 

In  his  wild  excitement  he  made  a sudden  move- 
ment. The  compress  which  the  laundress  had  made 
of  her  delinquent  customer,  Napoleon  Bonaparte’s 
shirt,  slipped  from  the  wound.  The  gash  re-opened 
— and  a stream  of  blood  flowed  over  the  bed. 

He  uttered  a cry,  and  Catherine  and  Mademoiselle 
Blanche,  with  difficulty  closed  the  wound  again. 

But  the  count  had  fainted. 

He  recovered  consciousness  slowly.  He  imag- 
ined he  was  dying,  and  in  his  death  agonies,  as  he 
thought,  revealed  to  Catherine’s  ears  a secret — the 
secret  of  secrets.  “Blanche,”  he  cried,  gasping, 
“watch  over  our — our  child.” 

At  the  words  “our  child”  Catherine  staggered — as 
though  she  had  received  a blow — but  she  controlled 
herself,  and,  looking  lovingly  at  the  now  downcast 
Blanche,  said:  “Fear  nothing,  mademoiselle,  what  I 
have  happened  to  hear  has  gone  into  one  ear  and  has 
come  out  by  the  other.  You  know  that  if  you  need 
me  I am  always  at  your  service.  But  the — the  child 
— ^is  he  big — I know  that  he — for  it  surely  is  a boy — 
is  sweet.” 

“He  is  nearly  three  years  old,”  answered  the 
blushing,  beautiful  mother. 


42 


MADAME  BAN8-GENE. 


‘‘And  whafc  is  his  name?”  asked  the  interested 
Catherine. 

“ Henri,”  said  Blanche,  “but  we  call  him  Henriot.” 

“What  a pretty  name,”  cried  Catherine.  “Oh, 
can  I not  see  him,  mademoiselle?” 

The  mother  paused  a moment,  in  deep  thought, 
then  taking  the  faithful  laundress’ hand,  she  said: 
“Listen,  dear,  you  can  do  me  a great  service  and 
finish  what  you  have  already  so  well  begun  in 
saving  Monsieur  de  Neipperg.” 

“Speak,  mademoiselle,”  cried  Catherine  excitedly; 
“what  is  it  I am  to  do?” 

“My  boy,”  said  Blanche,  “is  now  with  a good 
woman  in  the  suburbs  of  Versailles,  her  name  is 
Hoche — M^re  Hoche.” 

“I  know  her,”  interrupted  Catherine;  “her  son  is 
a great  friend  of  my — my  lover — my  husband  that  is 
to  be — my  Lefebvre.  “You  see,”  she  continued, 
blushing  divinely,  “I  too  shall  marry  soon  and  have, 
perhaps,  a little  Henri — who  knows — more  than  one 
perhaps.” 

“I  wish  you  joy,”  said  Mademoiselle  de  Laveline, 
embracing  her.  “But  will  you  go  for  me  and  see 
Mother  Hoche?” 

“What  shall  I say  to  Citizeness  Hoche?”  asked 
Catherine. 

“Give  her  first  this  letter,”  said  Blanche,  “then 
this  money — and  then  take  the  child — yourself.  Do 
I ask  too  much?” 

“ Is  that  all  asked  the  grateful  laundress.  “ Why 
if  you  were  to  tell  me  to  take  the  Tuileries,  though 
the  Swiss  guards  were  still  in  it,  I would  try  to  take 
it.”  She  continued  smiling,  “too  piuch — the  bare 
idea  is  cruel — why  if  it  was  not  for  your  kindness  in 
having  started  me  here  in  this  laundry  I should  never 
have  b^een  what  I shall  become — Madame  Lefebvre. 
Too  much  indeed — have  you  not  something  else  for  me 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


43 


to  do?  But  when  I have  taken  the  child  what  am  I 
to  do  with  the  little  darling — whom  I love  already.” 

‘‘Bring  him  to  me,”  said  his  mother. 

“ Where?” 

“To  Jemmapes — a village  near  the  Belgian  border 
— to  the  Palace  de  Lowendaal,  near  the  village.  Can 
you  get  there?” 

“I  can  get  anywhere — for  you.  But  when  am  I 
to  be  there  with  the  boy?” 

“ When?  Let  me  see.  By  the  sixth  of  November 
at  the  very  latest.” 

“1  will  be  there,”  said  Catherine;  “and  perhaps 
Lefebvre  will  be  with  me.  The  fighting  may  be 
over  then,  and  at  any  rate  I am  sure  Lefebvre  will 
manage  that  I go.” 

“Embrace  me,  Catherine,”  cried  Blanche  de  Lave- 
line.  “Some  day  I may  be  able  to  reward  you.” 

“You  have  rewarded  me  in  advance,”  said  Cather- 
ine; “rely  on  me.” 

Then  both  women  glanced  at  the  young  count, 
who  had  fallen  asleep  from  sheer  excitement  and 
exhaustion. 

“I  shall  watch  beside  him,”  said  Blanche;  “but 
meanwhile,  Catherine,  attend  to  your  business,  with 
which  I must  already  have  interfered  sadly.” 

“I  would  have  not  had  any  business  to  attend  to,” 
remarked  the  laundress,  “had  it  not  been  for  you; 
but  make  yourself  entirely  at  home — thi^  place  is 
yours.  But,  oh,  see,  he  opens  his  eyes — he  sees  you 
— he  smiles — he  will  be  stronger  now.  You  two  must 
have  a world  of  things  to  tell  each  other.  I shall 
leave  you,  but  not  for  long;  I must  take  some 
clothes  to  a customer  who  lives  a little  way  from 
here”  (thinking  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  his 
shirts);  “I  will  return  at  once — open  the  door  to 
nobody.  Good-by — au  revoir,^^ 


44 


MADAME  SAMS-GEME. 


CHAPTEE  VIL 

THE  TE^Al^T  OF  THE  HOTEL  DE  METZ. 

While  the  Count  de  Neipperg  and  Blanche  de 
Laveline  discussed  in  delicious  tUe-a-Ute  their  future, 
and  their  child,  the  laundress  had  taken  a basketful 
of  linen  and  was  preparing  to  go  out. 

Eirst,  last,  and  all  the  time,  Catherine  Upscher, 
Mademoiselle  Sans-Gene,  was  a business  woman,  and 
wanted  to  employ  her  time,  pleasantly  if  she  could, 
but  always  profitably. 

Her  benefactress  was  happy  with  her  lover,  she 
would  not  be  missed,  and  besides  she  had  lost  the 
whole  morning — the  best  part  of  the  day.  True  the 
Tuileries  had  been  taken— and  it  wasn’t  taken  often 
— still  it  didn’t  pay  her  anything — so  she  must  make 
up  for  lost  time. 

As  she  prepared  for  the  street  she  thought  upon 
various  things.  She  who  had  never  had  a secret  of 
her  own,  had  now  become,  in  spite  of  herself,  the 
keeper  of  the  secrets  of  other  people. 

She  was  still  amazed,  in  her  own  mind,  that  her 
benefactress,  the  nobly-born  Blanche  de  Laveline, 
should  have  so  far  forgotten  herself  as  to  yield  to  a 
lover — when  she  herself,  Catherine  Upscher,  lowly 
born  and  bred,  had  up  to  date  resisted  all  importuni- 
ties. But  love  laughs  at  all  barriers  of  mere  position 
or  education.  A marquis’  daughter  is  quite  as  liable 
to  be  fooled  as  a laundress,  and  after  all  Blanche  had 
been  her  benefactress,  and  it  was  not  for  such  as  her 
to  criticise.  Eather  let  her  look  forward  to  the  time 
when  Blanche  would  be  publicly  united  to  the  count, 
and  their  child  acknowledged  before  the  world. 

Neipperg  had  approved  warmly  of  Blanche’s  idea 
of  entrusting  the  boy  to  Catherine,  and  of  the  latter 
taking  the  child  to  Jemmapes,  and  it  had  been  ar- 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


45 


ranged  that  as  soon  as  he  was  well  enough  the  count 
would  seek  the  mother  of  his  child,  even  if  he  had 
to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal 
in  his  own  palace  halls — ay,  even  if  he  were  compelled 
to  dispute  his  right  to  Blanche  at  the  point  of  the 
sword. 

This  was  as  it  should  be.  As  for  her  own  Lefebvre^ 
he  was  doing  his  part  in  the  world — that  is,  Paris. 

‘^Doubtless,”  thought  Catherine,  “he  is  at  this 
moment  at  his  section,  where  they  are  voting — many 
of  them  for  him.  I wish  I were  there  to  vote 
for  him  myself — but  there  will  be  enough  without 
me.  No  man  has  more  friends,  nor  deserves  them 
more,  than  my  Lefebvre.  He  cannot  leave  his  sec- 
tion for  several  hours  yet,”  she  calculated;  “he  can- 
not leave  before  the  election  of  new  officers,  includ- 
ing Ms  election,  is  announced.  That  will  take,  let 
me  see,  say  two  hours;  they  always  take  such  a long 
time  to  vote  at  the  section  of  the  Filles-Saint-Thomas. 
They  drink  more  quickly  than  they  vote.  Well,  all 
good  angels  guard  my  man;  and  now  I shall  have 
time  to  run,  or  for  that  matter  to  walk,  to  Captain 
Bonaparte’s.” 

And  as  she  thought  of  the  captain  she  thought  of 
his  shirt — the  shirt  she  had  used  as  a compress 
for  the  wounds  of  the  young  Austrian.  “I  fear  me, 
he  will  miss  that  shirt;  he  has  no  surplus  in  the  way 
of  linen.  Poor  Captain  Bonaparte!” 

She  uttered  the  last  three  words  with  something 
like  a sigh. 

She  really  seemed  to  have  a pity  for  “poor  Cap- 
tain Bonaparte,”  and  has  not  the  poet  told  us  truly 
that  “Pity  is  akin  to  love.” 

“ When  I am  Citizeness  Lefebvre,”  she  blushed  even 
to  herself,  “I  don’t  want  to  owe  anything — not  even 
the  price  of  a shirt — to  Captain  Bonaparte.”  So  ran 
her  thoughts.  “It  is  enough  that  he  owes  me — I’ll 


46 


MADAME  8ANB-GENE. 


have  his  bill  ready^ — in  case  he  should  ask  me  for  it. 
I may  even  present  it  myself  and  demand  payment  if 
I can  muster  up  sufl3cient  courage.  Here,  Made- 
moiselle Sans-Gene,  what’s  the  matter  with  you?” 
she  took  herself  to  task  roundly;  ‘‘you  are  considered 
to  be  full  of  dash  and  energy,  and  to  be  not  afraid 
of  anybody,  and  yet  you  have  never  yet  been  able, 
though  you  have  tried  several  times,  to  present  this 
Captain  Napoleon  Bonaparte  with  his  wash  bill. 
But  then,”  so  she  excused  herself  to  herself, 
never  expect  to  get  what  he  owes  me.  He  is  an 
honest  young  man  and  would  pay  me  if  he  could, 
but  he  can’t,  he  hasn’t  got  the  money,  that  is  all 
there  is  about  it;  and  yet,  I really  can’t  help  admir- 
ing him — he  is  such  a worker,  such  a scholar-— he  is 
always  reading,  or  writing,  or  studying,  or  planning, 
and  then  he  has  no  fun  in  his  life;  he  takes  his  pleas- 
ures sadly,  as  if  he  was  an  Englishman.  Well,  one 
oannot  be  good  and  wise  and  rich,  too;  one  cannot 
have  everything.”  And  she  felt  in  her  pocket  for 
Captain  Bonaparte’s  wash  bill. 

Finally  she  arrived  at  the  Hotel  de  Metz,  a modest 
building  kept  by  one  Citizen  Maureard. 

It  was  in  this  hotel  that  this  Captain  Bonaparte 
resided  during  this  period  of  his  existence. 

Yes,  “existence”  is  the  right  word  in  this  con- 
nection— existence,  not  life — he  could  not  be  said 
truthfully  to  be  “living”  at  this  time — only  existing 
— not  living  at  the  Hotel  de  Metz,  only  residing 
there,  a mere  tenant  of  the  hotel,  and  a tenant  in 
arrears. 

He  occupied  a room,  a small  room,  a very  small 
and  cheerless  apartment  on  the  third  story,  num- 
ber 14. 

He  subsisted  on  next  to  nothing,  cooked  his  own 
meals,  when  he  had  any  to  cook,  and  often  made  a 
meal  of  milk. 


MADAME  SANS-GEIfE. 


47 


And  yet  in  spite  of  his  economy  he  ran  into  debt, 
notwithstanding  his  own  resolves.  Necessity  knows 
no  law  and  heeds  no  protestations.  He  owed  fifteen 
francs  to  his  hotel-keeper,  who  often  demanded 
them,  and,  as  we  have  already  ascertained  from  his 
laundress,  owed  his  wash  bill. 

And  all  his  friends,  just  then,  were  as  poor  as 
himself — some  of  them  even  poorer — actually  penni- 
less— and  Paris  is  a bad  place  to  be  poor  in.  His 
closest  intimates  were  Junot,  Marmont,  and  Bourri- 
enne,  and  on  one  occasion,  counting  up,  there  wert 
only  four  sous  among  the  four. 

True,  all  four  were  rich  in  hopes,  but  landlords  and 
laundresses  do  not  take  their  pay  in  hopes. 

Yes,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  future  conqueror 
of  Europe  was  now  almost  a pauper  in  Paris. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  LITTLE  DAYS  OF  A GREAT  MAH — NAPOLEON 
WHEN  HE  WAS  YOUNG  AND  POOR. 

The  youth  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  one  of  the 
greatest  and  the  most  unfortunate  of  men,  one  of 
the  important  personages  of  history — who  made 
his  country  ring  with  his  name  and  his  glory,  and 
whose  aureole  of  blood  still  stains  the  horizon,  passed 
without  any  extraordinary  events  whatever,  and 
could  not  point  to  one  supernatural  indication. 

After  he  had  become  famous  his  biographers  in- 
vented such  events  and  such  indications  in  abundance, 
but  there  were  really  none  lefore. 

Bonaparte  as  a boy  and  as  a young  man,  may  be 
said  to  have  deceived  the  world.  There  was  no  one 
to  foretell  his  fortune — there  was  no  sign  of  coming 
greatness. 


48 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


In  his  early  years  he  was  merely  a poor,  reserved, 
industrious  student,  very  proud  and  very  quiet.  He 
was  in  fact  decidedly  unfortunate;  he  was  isolated 
from  the  world  by  lack  of  money.  Like  all  Corsicans 
he  was  clannish — like  all  Corsicans  he  felt  the  pres- 
sure of  family  ties,  and  so  he  endured  not  only  the 
pangs  of  his  own  poverty,  but  those  of  the  poverty 
of  his  family. 

He  came  of  good  stock,  however;  both  his  father 
and  his  mother  were  superior  to  the  average  man 
and  woman. 

His  father,  Charles  Bonaparte,  or  speaking  more 
accurately,  Charles  de  Bonaparte,  was  the  descendant 
of  an  ancient  and  honorable  family  of  the  Tuscan 
nobility,  established  at  Ajaccio  for  over  two  centu- 
ries. He  became  a lawyer,  like  his  father  and  grand- 
father before  him.  Charles  Bonaparte  was  both 
ambitious  and  patriotic.  He  desired  the  independence 
of  Corsica,  and  was  one  of  the  most  zealous  adherents 
of  the  patriot  Paoli;  but  when  Paoli  failed  and  left 
Corsica,  Charles  Bonaparte  prudently  submitted  to 
French  rule.  He  became  in  time  a member  of  the 
Corsican  council  of  administration,  and  was  univer- 
sally respected,  but  his  pecuniary  means  were  limited. 
There  were  few  opportunities  for  Corsicans  to  make 
money  in  Corsica;  he  owned  what  was  grandiloquently 
styled  ‘‘a  plantation  of  vines  and  olives,”  but  it  only 
yielded  its  owner  a thousand  livres  yearly — scarcely 
that — and  even  this  income  grew  less  and  less  and 
threatened  to  disappear  altogether. 

Perhaps  the  wisest  thing  Charles  Bonaparte  ever 
did  was  to  marry  Letitia  Eamolini.  She  was  a 
beauty,  the  belle  of  Corsica,  with  a profile  clean  out, 
like  an  antique  cameo,  a woman  of  a commanding 
presence,  and  a commanding  mind. 

Most  great  men  owe  most  to  their  mothers,  and 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  no  exception  to  this  rule. 


MADAME  SAMS-OEME. 


49 


Among  her  other  gifts,  the  wife  of  Charles  Bona- 
parte knew  the  value  of  money;  she  kept  the  Bona- 
partes  from  absolutely  starving  in  Corsica,  and,  later 
on,  when  her  sen  was  Emperor  of  France,  and  all 
her  children  and  relatives  were  kings,  queens,  princes 
and  princesses,  she  still  saved  all  the  money  she  could, 
and  spent  as  little  as  possible. 

Napoleon  reproved  her  gently  for  this  ‘‘misplaced 
economy”  as  he  conceived  it  to  be  one  day,  and  found 
fault  with  her  for  not  spending  half  of  her  liberal 
allowance,  but  she  simply  said  to  him:  “You  may 
yourself  want  money  some  day,  and  then  I will  have 
some  for  you.  I am  economizing  for  my  children.” 
And  the  time  came  when  her  children  needed  all  the 
money  they  could  get,  and  could  not  get  any. 

Accepted  tradition  has  it  that  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
was  horn  August  15,  1769,  and  was  the  second  son 
of  his  parents,  but  another  calculation  figures  that 
Joseph  Bonaparte  was  the  younger  son,  and  that 
Napoleon  was  born  January  7,  1768. 

It  is  odd  that  the  exact  date  of  the  birth  of  the 
most  famous  man  of  modern  times  should  thus  be  in 
doubt;  but  so  it  is,  and  the  very  marriage  certificate 
of  Napoleon  and  Josephine  adds  to  this  confusion  of 
dates. 

Two  sets  of  circumstances  largely  influenced  the 
formation  of  Napoleon’s  character,  and  decided  his 
bent  of  thought.  These  were  the  political  perturba- 
tions of  his  native  land,  and  the  pecuniary  distress 
of  his  family. 

There  was  civil  war  raging  in  his  country,  there 
was  poverty  raging  in  his  home.  Together  they 
hardened  his  soul,  they  embittered  his  youth. 

He  was  naturally  serious,  and  seriously  he  went  to 
school  at  Brienne,  but  he  came  out  of  school  sad, 
heart  sore. 

He  was  not  “popular”  as  a schoolboy;  his  comrades 


50 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


made  fun  at  his  odd  name,  and  laughed  at  his  trying 
to  talk  French  with  an  Italian  accent,  and  above  all 
they  taunted  him  with  his  poverty.  He  had  no 
^‘spending  money,”  and  every  boy  knows  that 
means  to  a boy. 

He  was  not  a particularly  bright  scholar  either; 
fair,  especially  in  mathematics,  but  not  brilliant. 
He  only  came  out  of  his  shell  once;  he  led  a small 
army  of  boys  one  winter  to  attack  a snow  fort  with 
snowballs,  and  by  strategy  he  took  the  fort;  but  he 
went  back  to  his  solitude  again,  and  boys  who  love 
solitude  are  not  loved  themselves.  Youth  is,  as  it 
ought  to  be,  social. 

His  only  companion  at  Brienne  was  a lad  called 
Bourrienne,  who  afterward  associated  with  him  in 
Paris  and  became  his  private  secretary.  This  Bour- 
rienne was  a miser  and  an  iugrate.  Napoleon  loaded 
him  with  favors  which  he  repaid  by  abuse  in  his 
biography  of  his  master. 

Napoleon  went  from  Brienne  to  the  military  school 
where  he  duplicated  his  career  at  Brienne,  with  addi- 
tional misery  and  privation. 

He  was  always  in  want  of  ready  money;  v^hat  little 
he  had  he  sent  to  his  family,  who  were  ever  dear  to 
him;  but  he  was  young  and  loved  pleasure,  as  all 
boys  should;  but  pleasures,  even  boyish  joys,  cost 
money — not  much  it  is  true — but  money  is  what  the 
young  Napoleon  never  had. 

Thus  isolated  from  his  kind  at  an  age  when  the 
heart  is  ready  to  expand,  the  lonely  youth  grew  up 
to  be  the  inscrutable  and  pitiless  man — a man  of 
bronze. 

In  1785  his  father  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-nine 
years,  just  as  Napoleon  was  appointed  second  lieu- 
tenant in  the  company  of  bombardiers  of  the  regi- 
ment of  La  F^re  in  garrison  at  Valencia.  While  in 
this  position  he  wrote  in  his  spare  hours  a history  of 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


51 


Corsica,  a work  of  some  merit,  and  he  also  made  an 
attempt  to  enter  society.  He  even  perpetrated  the 
extravagance  of  taking  dancing  lessons  of  a Professor 
Dantel.  He  was  as  earnest  in  his  study  of  the  terp* 
sichorean  art  as  in  his  study  of  mathematics,  but 
his  assiduity  was  not  as  well  rewarded  in  the  former 
as  in  the  latter.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  great  Corsi- 
can was  never  graceful — the  cleverest  soldier  who 
ever  lived  was  clumsy. 

At  this  time  Napoleon  likewise  formed  the  ac- 
quaintanceship of  quasi-fashionable  ladies,  and  began 
his  career  of  gallantry;  but  in  this,  as  in  every  other 
pursuit  of  his  youth,  he  was  hampered  by  his  pov- 
erty, and  finally  retired,  alike  defeated  and  disgusted. 

His  regiment  was  sent  first  to  Lyons,  then  to 
Douai,  but  Napoleon  obtained  a leave  of  absence, 
which  he  passed  partly  with  his  mother  and  sisters 
at  Ajaccio,  and  partly  in  Paris,  where  he  lived  at 
the  Hotel  de  Cherbourg,  in  the  Rue  de  Four-Saint- 
Honore. 

During  his  stay  in  Paris  he  took  with  him  his 
young  brother  Louis;  he 'did  so  from  affection  and 
from  necessity.  His  mother,  a widow  with  eight 
children,  could  not  support  them  all,  so  Napoleon 
took  one  of  the  eight  with  him. 

By  this  time  his  money  fell  short — shorter  than 
usual — and  so  the  future  emperor  and  his  brother 
existed,  counting  room  rent,  on  ninety-two  francs, 
fifteen  centimes  a month — less  than  half  of  a clerk’s 
salary. 

The  pair  resided  in  two  small  rooms,  without  any 
furniture  to  speak  of,  and  without  any  fire  at  all. 
The  future  master  of  the  Tuileries  and  Saint  Cloud, 
slept  on  a cot,  and  a very  old  and  hard  one;  sat  and 
thought  out  the  problems  of  life  on  a straw-stuffed 
chair,  and  wrote  and  ate  on  a table  of  hard  white 
board.  For  library  he  kept  his  old  trunk,  stuffed  with 

U,  OF  ILL  UB. 


52 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


manuscripts  and  books,  in  the  middle  of  tne  room ; as 
for  Louis,  the  future  King  of  Holland,  he  slept 
awhile  on  the  floor,  then  on  a mattress,  but  no  bed. 
As  for  servant  they  kept  only  one,  and  his  name  was 
Napoleon  Bonaparte.  The  future  master  of  Europe 
brushed  the  coats,  polished  the  boots,  dusted  the 
xoom  and  cooked  the  dinner. 

And  he  did  all  this  within  a few  thousand  feet  of 
the  palace  which  in  a few  years  was  to  be  his  imperial 
home. 

History  has  given  to  the  astonished  world  many 
dramatic  contrasts,  but  none  so  startling  as  this. 
Napoleon  himself  in  his  prosperity  never  entirely 
forgot  this  period  of  adversity.  Once  one  of  his 
functionaries  complained  to  his  imperial  lord  that  his 
pay  was  inadequate — that  it  was  but  gilded  poverty. 

‘‘Ah,  monsieur,”  said  the  emperor,  “I,  too,  have 
known  poverty,  and  in  this  very  Paris;  but  there 
was  no  ‘gilt’  about  it.  The  veneer  was  off — it  was 
the  solid  article.  Many  a morning  I breakfasted  on 
dry  bread,  but  I did  my  duty  and  never  complained. 
I closed  my  door  on  my  poverty.  I kept  it  to  myself. 
I never  talked  of  it  or  showed  my  sores.” 

One  thing  is  certain:  Napoleon’s  poverty  preserved 
alike  his  health  and  his  morals  at  this  critical  period 
of  his  life.  It  kept  him  strong  and  pure. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  man  that,  as  his  lack  of 
money  prevented  him  at  this  time  from  gallantry, 
he  acted  like  the  fox  with  the  sour  grapes,  and  railed 
against  women.  He  wrote  to  a friend:  “I  believe 
that  what  is  called  love  is  the  bane  of  the  world,  and 
the  destruction  of  all  personal  happiness  in  man. 
Love  does  more  harm  than  good.”  He  altered  his 
sentiments  on  this  point  with  his  circumstances. 

At  last,  raised  to  a first  lieutenancy  of  the  Fourth 
Artillery,  Bonaparte,  and  his  brother  Louis,  returned 
to  Valencia.  At  this  stage  he  abandoned  all  social 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE, 


53 


«fipirations  for  the  while,  and  became  once  more  the 
trtiiet,  studious  cynic  and  officer,  merging  gradually 
iiito  the  philosophical  agitator  and  revolutionist. 

About  this  period  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  future 
aiitocrat  of  the  continent,  was  almost  as  fiery  in  his 
denunciations  of  authority  as  ever  were  Danton, 
Marat,  or  Eobespierre.  He  Avas  ahvays  exclaiming 
for  ‘‘liberty,”  always  haranguing  about  “the  rights 
of  the  people.”  In  short  he  became  known  as  a 
“revolutionist,”  an  embryo  anarchist.  He  became 
the  secretary  of  the  democratic  club  “ Les  Amis  de 
Peuple,”  and  perhaps  while  the  fever  lasted,  he  was 
sincere.  Why  not?  he  was  a many-sided  man,  a 
chameleon,  a superb  actor,  who  understood  “make 
up”  to  perfection. 

He  could  adapt  himself  to  any  scene,  person,  cir- 
cumstance, or  theory;  could  advocate  any  side,  or  all 
sides,  side  by  side,  with  equal  facility  and  truthful- 
ness; he  could  wear  a mask  as  though  it  were  a face. 
There  was  Italian  finesse  as  well  as  fervor  in  the  great 
Corsican.  And  yet,  at  this  peculiar  period  of  his 
wonderful  and  meteoric  career,  he  did  not  hesitate, 
this  advocate  of  the  people,  to  resort  to  bold  defiance 
and  brute  force  to  gain  his  purposes,  spite  of  popular 
sentiment,  as  was  shown  by  an  episode  of  his  life  in 
Corsica. 

In  October,  1791,  he  obtained  leave  of  absence  to 
improve  his  health  and  to  visit  his  mother  and  sisters. 
He  accordingly  sailed  to  his  native  island,  where  he 
determined  to  become  the  commander  of  a battalion 
of  National  Guards  at  Ajaccio.  He  took  his  family 
into  his  confidence,  and  made  all  his  relatives  bis 
partisans,  but  he  had  a rival  for  this  coveted  place — a 
man  named  Marius  Peraldi,  who  belonged  to  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  families  in  Corsica — and  who 
was,  to  a greater  degree  than  Bonaparte,  the  popular 
candidate  for  the  position. 


54 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


Bonaparte,  however,  was  the  more  energetic  of 
the  two,  and  worked  day  and  night.  He  stirred 
Ajaccio  as  the  town  had  never  been  stirred  before. 
Ere  long  he  stood  even  in  the  race  with  his  rival, 
but  there  was  now  a third  element  introduced  into 
the  canvass  which  could  turn  the  scale.  This  was 
composed  of  the  commissaries  of  the  constituante, 
sent  direct  to  Corsica  by  the  central  power.  They 
occupied  a species  of  semi-ofScial  position,  and  that 
means  a great  deal  in  Corsica,  and  they  controlled 
enough  votes  to  make  the  candidate  they  favored 
win. 

Bonaparte  appreciated  these  facts  and  did  all  he 
could  to  gain  the  commissaries,  but  in  vain.  He 
had  no  ready  money,  and  the  commissaries  were 
venal.  Meanwhile  the  other  side  had  “seen”  them 
and  made  “satisfactory  arrangements.”  Their  chief, 
a man  named  Muratori,  had  “settled”  with  Marius 
Peraldi. 

Ascertaining  this,  Bonaparte’s  friends  and  parti- 
sans, even  his  own  family,  thought  his  cause  lost,  but 
not  so  Bonaparte.  He  was  as  ardent  and  tenacious 
then  as  afterward.  The  youth  is  the  father  of  the 
full-grown  man. 

He  called  together  a number  of  his  warmest  and 
boldest  partisans,  men  who  like  himself  stopped  at 
nothing,  and  laid  before  them  a daring  plan  of  action, 
which  met  with  their  instant  approval. 

This  plan  was  carried  out  to  the  most  minute 
detail. 

One  night  while  Marius  Peraldi  was  entertaining 
Muratori  and  the  commissaries  at  dinner,  the  dining- 
room was  invaded  by  a force  of  armed  men  who 
pointed  their  guns  alike  at  host  and  guests,  while 
two  of  the  invaders,  doubly  armed,  seized  Muratori, 
and  led  him  to  the  Bonaparte  mansion. 

He  was  a thoroughly  frightened  man,  but  no 


MADAME  SAN^QENE. 


55 


harm  was  done  him.  He  was  hospitably  received 
by  Napoleon  himself,  who  entertained  him  on  the 
best  his  honse  afforded;  his  sisters  and  his  mother 
likewise  welcomed  him  and  lavished  courtesies  upor 
him. 

‘‘Make  yourself  entirely  at  home,”  said  Napoleon 
to  his  involuntary  guest.  “ 1 know  that  Peraldi  forced 
you  to  his  dinner,  but  there  is  no  compulsion.” 
He  said  this,  although  several  of  his  armed  partisans 
were  still  standing  at  his  dining-room  door,  ready  to 
shoot  his  guest  if  he  moved  hand  or  foot. 

Muratori  saw  that  he  was  done  for,  so  far  as  the 
matter  at  issue  was  concerned,  and  man-like,  ho  pro- 
ceeded  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation.  He  pre- 
tended to  humor  the  Bonaparte  assumption  that  he 
was  their  invited  guest,  and  he  ate  and  drank  as 
heartily  at  Bonaparte's  as  a few  hours  before  he  had 
feasted  at  Peraldi’s.  Needless  to  say  that  on  the 
morrow  Napoleon  was  elected  commander  of  the 
National  Guards  of  Ajaccio. 

Thus  Ajaccio  foreshadowed  St.  Cloud  and  the 
election  for  commander  of  the  National  Guard  fore- 
told the  man  of  Brumaire. 

And  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  this  affair 
Bonaparte  took  a double  risk,  not  only  of  losing  his 
desired  place  as  commander  of  the  militia  in  Corsica, 
but  of  forfeiting  his  rank  in  the  regular  army  of 
France.  For  according  to  the  rule  of  military  serv- 
ice no  officer  connected  with  an  army  in  active  oper- 
ation in  the  field  has  any  right  to  any  territorial  or 
outside  position,  but  this  was  a revolutionary  period, 
and  Napoleon  took  his  chances.  Had  matters  been 
in  a settled  state  his  exploit  would  have  cost  him 
dear;  but  he  contrived  to  have  his  furlough  pro- 
longed, so  that  ere  it  ended  his  term  of  service  had 
expired. 

But  perhaps  the  one  point  connected  with  this 


56 


MADAME  SAJSfS-GENE. 


episoue  which  was  most  characteristic  of  the  man 
was  the  motive  which  insjDired  it.  The  affair  had 
not  been  undertaken  for  mere  power — there  was  no 
sphere  for  power  to  exert  itself  in  Corsica.  It  had 
not  been  conceived  or  executed  in  a spirit  of  ambi- 
tion— there  was  no  scope  for  ambition  in  Corsica.  It 
was  not  a political  affair — Bonaparte  really  cared 
nothing  for  the  politics  of  Corsica.  No,  the  real 
motive  which  animated  the  future  ‘‘man  of  destiny” 
in  this  matter  was  money — the  desire  for  money — 
but  not  money  for  himself,  but  for  his  family,  for 
his  mother,  his  brothers  and  his  sisters.  Napoleon 
made  an  increase  in  his  pay  of  eighty-one  livres  by 
forcing  himself  into  the  position  of  commander  of 
the  National  Guards  at  Ajaccio;  with  this  increase 
he  was  enabled  to  replenish  the  scanty  wardrobe  of 
his  sisters  and  to  educate  his  brothers;  this  was  the 
secret  of  his  emeute  in  Corsica.  All  his  life,  in  one 
way  or  another,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  whether  poor 
or  rich,  obscure  or  omnipotent,  was  more  or  less, 
generally  more,  the  victim  of  his  family. 

Whatever  were  his  faults,  lack  of  natural  affection 
was  not  one  of  them.  He  was  the  best  of  sons, 
always  loving,  respecting,  and  taking  care  of  his 
mother,  who  was  in  all  respects  worthy  of  his  devo- 
tion. He  was  the  best  of  brothers  to  his  sisters, 
never  ^'oxgetting  their  wishes — ever  alert  to  gratify 
their  ambitions,  besides  being  fond  of  them  person- 
ally. As  for  his  brothers,  he  was  a father  and  a 
guardian  to  them  all.  True,  in  his  after  career  he 
used  his  brothers  and  sisters  as  the  tools  of  his  pur- 
poses, but  his  purposes  always  included  their  own 
benefit  and  advancement;  and  it  must  be  said  tliat 
none  of  his  family,  except  his  mother,  reciprocated 
in  full  his  attachment,  or  appreciated  his  motives. 

He  gained  his  end,  as  has  been  shown,  in  this  Cor- 
sican episode,  and  got  his  money,  but  he  did  not 


MADAME  SANS-GEME, 


57 


have  his  own  way  in  the  matter  altogether;  he  had  to 
suffer  a certain  penalty  for  his  elevation  and  success. 
The  affair  was  brought  by  his  enemies  to  the  notice 
of  the  French  authorities,  who  investigated  it  thor- 
oughly. Napoleon,  like  the  shrewd  lawyer  he  was 
(as  was  shown  afterward  in  the  code  Napoleon), 
pleaded  his  own  cause  cunningly.  In  obtaining 
command  of  the  battalion  at  Ajaccio  he  was  accused 
of  practically  leaving  or  deserting  the  army.  This 
he  strenuously  denied,  for  he  argued  that  the  Na- 
tional Guard  in  Corsica  was  really  a part  of  the  regular 
French  army,  and  was,  according  to  the  rules  of  war, 
in  active  service.  Consequently,  as  he  had  obtained 
a position  in  the  National  Guards  he  had  never  left 
the  army;  besides,  argued  Bonaparte,  he  had  com- 
plied with  the  decree  of  the  Assembly  of  December 
17, 1791,  which  authorized  officers  of  the  active  army 
to  serve  in  the  ranks  of  the  National  Guard.  He 
claimed  to  have  consulted  the  camp-marshal  of  Kossi 
on  this  point,  who  had  convinced  himself  satisfac- 
torily of  the  entire  regularity  of  the  whole  proceeding. 

But  despite  this  special  pleading  Napoleon  was 
deposed  by  Colonel  Maillard;  whereupon  he  went  to 
Paris  to  justify  his  conduct  to  the  minister  of  war. 

He  felt  hopeful  of  so  doing,  and  used  every  direct 
and  indirect  influence  to  impress  himself  upon  the 
war  minister.  He  lost  not  a minute’s  time  in  Paris, 
and  when  not  engaged  in  advancing  his  cause  with 
the  authorities  he  was  working  and  planning  for  the 
future,  although  not  always  able  to  pay  for  his  wash- 
ing, as  his  laundress,  Mademoiselle  Catherine  Sans- 
Gene,  had  already  by  experience  ascertained. 

The  future  emperor  of  the  French  at  this  period 
of  his  life  could  claim  only  one  family  of  any  social 
position  as  his  “friends,”  and  this  family  hailed  from 
Corsica — the  Permons,  consisting  of  monsieur,  ma- 
dame  and  mademoiselle,  their  daughter,  whom  he 


68 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE. 


had  known  in  Valencia.  He  took  dinner  once  a 
week  at  the  Permons’,  and  generally  it  was  the  only 
real  iona  fide  dinner  he  partook  of  during  the  week. 
He  repaid  his  social  obligations  to  these  Permons  in 
later  years.  Mademoiselle  Permon  married  Junot, 
and  became  Duchess  of  Abrantes.  As  will  be  seen 
hereafter,  Napoleon  at  one  period  thought  of  marry- 
ing the  widow  Permon. 


On  the  morning  of  August  10,  Bonaparte  had  risen 
early  at  the  sounding  of  the  tocsin  and  had  been  a 
spectator  of  the  fray,  but  nothing  more.  A brother 
of  his  friend  Bourrienne,  named  Fauvelet,  kept  a 
bric-a-brac  shop  and  a loan-office  at  the  Place  du 
Carrousel,  and  thither  the  future  emperor  of  the 
French  wended  his  way  to  pawn  his  watch.  He 
needed  money  desperately  that  day  and  knew  no  way 
to  get  it  but  by  pawning.  He  entered  the  pawn- 
shop, and,  after  the  usual  higgling  and  haggling, 
obtained  on  the  security  of  his  time-piece  fifteen 
francs,  a trifling  sum,  which,  however,  meant  five 
days’  living  to  him.  ‘^At  any  rate,”  thought 
Napoleon  as  he  put  the  money  in  his  pocket,  ‘‘I 
shall  not  be  quite  penniless  on  this  day  of  revolu- 
tion.” 

He  would  have  then  left  the  shop,  but  the  crowd 
in  the  streets  blocked  the  way,  so  he  remained  and 
watched  the  fight.  And  at  noon,  when  the  victory 
of  the  people  was  assured,  he  went  home  in  a pensive 
mood.  Ay,  positively  sad,  sickened  by  the  smell  of 
blood,  saddened  by  the  sight  of  corpses.  Bonaparte 
never  forgot  the  terrible  spectacle  he  beheld  on  this 
tenth  day  of  August.  It  produced  a phenomenal 
impression  upon  his  mind.  In  years  to  come  he 
became  ‘‘the  great  butcher  of  Europe,”  and  thought 
but  little  of  the  oceans  of  his  people’s  blood  which 
h@  had  caused  to  flow,  and  the  mountains  of  dead 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


59 


bodies  which  had  grown  tinder  his  conquering  feet. 
But  he  never  forgot  the  tragedy  he  witnessed  from 
the  pawnshop  on  August  the  tenth. 

Even  when  in  St.  Helena,  looking  backward  on 
his  bloody  life,  he  often  alluded  with  emotion  and 
indignation  to  the  innumerable  victims  of  the  Swiss 
guards  and  the  Chevaliers  du  Poignard,  and  to  the 
terrible"  sights  he  saw  in  the  streets  of  Paris  as  he 
walked  homeward  on  the  tenth  of  August. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

THE  HANDSOME  SERGEANT  AND  HER  BROTHER. 

Such  was  the  man — obscure,  unknown,  a man  of 
mystery — whom  Catherine  Sans-Gene  was  now  seek- 
ing in  his  little  furnished  room,  in  a modest  hotel 
where  he  was  waiting  impatiently  but  industriously 
for  the  capricious  and  tardy  goddess,  whom  men  call 
Eortune,  who  had  not  yet,  it  would  appear,  fully 
decided  to  knock  at  his  door. 

The  world  seemed  against  him — nothing  went 
right — everything  went  wrong.  He  was  the  victim 
of  ill-luck. 

On  his  return  to  his  rooms  on  this  tenth  of  August 
he  rushed  to  work,  which  meant  distraction  from  his 
cares,  and  a temporary  oblivion  of  the  terrible  spec- 
tacle he  had  witnessed  from  the  windows  of  the 
pawnshop. 

He  unrolled  one  of  his  geographical  charts  and  care- 
fully studied  the  region  of  the  south  of  France,  the 
border  towns  of  the  Mediterranean,  especially  Mar- 
seilles, and  the  seaport  of  Toulon  where  a royalist 
reaction  was  taking  place,  and  which  was  menaced 
by  an  English  fleet. 

And  ever  and  anon  he  pushed  the  map  away,  hid 
his  head  in  his  hands,  and  dreamed. 


60 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


Oh!  what  dreams! 

Visions  of  vanquished  cities,  which  he  entered  as 
conqueror,  riding  a white  horse,  amid  the  acclama- 
tions of  the  crowd.  Visions  of  triumphal  marches, 
amid  vanquished  soldiers  in  strange  lands,  sometimes 
amid  snow-storms,  sometimes  under  tropical  suns. 
Visions  of  feasts  and  precessions  in  his  honor,  kings 
subdued  by  his  sword,  queens  flinging  themselves  at 
his  feet — an  intoxication  of  glory— an  apotheosis  of 
conquest! 

And  then  he  would  cease  dreaming  and  face  the 
realities  of  his  little  room,  with  its  scanty  furniture 
and  its  bare  walls,  and  he  would  smile  bitterly,  ridi- 
culing his  own  dreams.  And  then  for  the  hundredth 
time  he  reviewed  realistically  his  own  situation. 

His  position  was  utterly  deplorable,  and  no  change 
seemed  probable. 

He  had  no  money,  no  work,  no  friend,  no  pro- 
tector. The  minister  of  war  was  deaf  to  his  entreat- 
ies, the  courts  seemed  hostile. 

He  was  in  want,  and  he  felt  himself  growing  weak. 

His  ambition  was  blown  to  pieces  by  the  winds  of 
reality — his  castle  of  hopes  fell  like  a castle  of  cards. 

He  shuddered  with  the  chills  of  disillusion — there 
is  no  other  chill  as  cold  as  that. 

An  idea  occurred  to  him  in  his  desperation.  Near 
his  hotel  a contractor  was  putting  up  some  houses 
on  a speculation,  in  the  quarter  of  Paris  known  as 
^^Nouvelle-France”  (new  France).  He  knew  this 
contractor  and  might  make  terms  with  him.  He 
would  hire  one  of  his  houses  and  let  out  furnished 
rooms  to  poor  devils  not  quite  so  poor  as  himself. 

Then  another  idea  struck  him  forcibly.  He  would 
leave  France  at  once  and  forever,  and  offer  himself 
and  his  sword  to  the  Turks. 

Then  once  more  he  looked  at  his  map,  studied  it, 
particularly  the  basin  of  the  Mediterranean,  his  birth- 


MADAME  SANS-GEJSrm 


61 


place.  Perhaps  some  day,  around  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean  Sea,  he  would  lead  his  cannoneers 
against  perfidious  Albion,  against  the  hated  En- 
glish. 

That^  at  least,  was  possible — probable — naturaL 
But  when?  and  how?  Again  a cold  chill  seized 
him — the  subtle  poison  of  discouragement,  disap- 
pointment  and  despair  froze  the  blood  in  his  veins. 

But  by  a mighty  effort  of  the  will  he  repressed  his 
demoralizing  thoughts,  and  resumed  his  work  upon 
the  chart,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  his  dream. 

At  this  moment  some  one  tapped  lightly  twice  on 
the  door. 

Bonaparte  trembled.  He  who  would  have  faced  a 
world  in  arms,  was  frightened  at  what  he  thought 
might  be  the  announcing  of  a dun.  Brave  men 
when  penniless  are  cowards.  He  kept  still — he  did 
not  move.  Presently  there  was  a third  and  louder 
knock. 

“Perhaps  it  is  old  Maureard,  my  landlord,  with 
my  bill,'’  thought  Bonaparte.  “ Well,  let  him  come.’^ 
And  then  he  cried,  “Come  in.” 

The  door  opened  and  a young  man  entered.  Very 
young  indeed — almost  a boy — and  as  fresh  and  fair 
as  a girl. 

On  the  sleeves  of  his  new  coat  he  wore  the  stripes 
of  a sergeant — new  stripes. 

Bonaparte  looked  at  the  youth  in  wonder.  “ What 
do  you  want  with  me?”  he  asked  of  the  stranger. 
“Have  you  not  made  a mistake?” 

The  young  sergeant  saluted  in  military  fashion. 

“Have  I not  the  honor  to  address  Captain  Bona- 
parte of  the  artillery?”  he  asked  softly. 

“I  am  he,”  was  the  reply.  “Your  business  with 
me?” 

The  youth  seemed  embarrassed.  “I  am  called 
Een6,”  he  said  hesitatingly. 


m 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


‘‘Well,  your  name  has  one  advantage,  it  is  short,” 
said  Bonaparte. 

“Yes,  and  I am  serving  in  the  regiment  of  volun- 
teers from  Mayenne-et-Loire,”  continued  the  visitor, 
recovering  confidence.  “And,”  he  added  with  a 
smile  so  charming  as  to  atone  for  his  rather  conceited 
and  effeminate  speech,  “they  call  me  ‘the  handsome 
sergeant.’  ” 

“And  rightly,”  said  Bonaparte,  himself  smiling, 
“though  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  rather  too  gentle 
and  too  foppish  for  a soldier.” 

“Judge  a soldier  only  when  he  is  under  fire,”  re- 
torted “the  handsome  sergeant”  proudly. 

“Ah!”  Bonaparte  winced;  “you  are  right,”  he 
said.  The  young  stranger’s  words  had  touched  the 
artillery  officer  on  a sore  spot.  “Under  fire,”  he 
growled,  “I  wonder  if  any  one  will  ever  see  me  there. 
But  come,  monsieur,  to  the  point,”  he  continued; 
“what  do  you  want?  what  can  I do?” 

“Captain,”  answered  the  “handsome  sergeant,” 
“I  have  a brother,  named  Marcel.” 

“Oh,  you  have  a — a brother  named  Marcel,  have 
youT'*  repeated  Bonaparte. 

“Yes,  captain,  and  my — my  brother  is  detailed 
as  a doctor  in  the  Fourth  Artillery  regiment  at 
Valencia.” 

“My  regiment,”  said  Bonaparte.  Then  correcting 
himself,  “my  late  regiment,”  he  said  sadly. 

“Yes,  captain,  and  that  is  why  I hoped  to  see  you. 
Sergeant  Lefebvre,  whom  I met  this  morning  at  the 
fight  at  the  Tuileries,  told  me  you  were  in  Paris, 
and  that  I must  call  upon  you.” 

“Brave  Lefebvre,  I know  him  well,”  said  Bona- 
parte; “but  why  did  he  send  you  to  me?” 

“That  you  might  perhaps  by  your  influence,  by 
word  to  the  commander,  get  my  brother  exchanged 
60  that  we  might  be  together.” 


MADAME  8AN8-0ENE, 


63 


Bonaparte  thought  deeply,  and  looked  intently  at 
‘Hhe  handsome  sergeant,”  who  became  more  earnest, 
even  impassioned  in  his  pleadings. 

‘^Oh,  captain,”  he  cried,  “I  wa.t  my  brother,  I 
want  to  see  him,  to  nurse  him,  if  he  should  be 
wounded.  Oh,  captain,  help  me  to  this  great  bless- 
ing. If  only  we  can  be  together,  we  will  never  cease 
to  bless  you.” 

The  handsome  sergeant’s  voice  grew  husky  with 
emotion;  it  sounded  as  though  he  were  sobbing. 

Bonaparte  approached  him.  ‘‘You  love  your — 
your  brother,  do  you  not?  Well,  he  is  fortunate  in 
having  such  a brother.  But  really  I fear  I can  do 
nothing,  or  next  to  nothing  for  you.  Lefebvre 
should  have  told  you  what  he  knows  about  me,  that 
I am  without  employment,  without  commission. 
They  have  broken  my  sword.  I know  no  one  in 
Paris;  my  recommendation  to  the  Fourth  Artillery 
would  be  worse  than  useless.  Why,  my — ray — man, 
I am  myself  looking  for  some  one  to  help  me.  Still 
I will  do  for  you  and  your — your  brother  what  I can. 
I know  the  brother  of  an  influential  man,  an  old 
deputy  who  lives  in  the  Eue  Saint-Honore,  he  is 
called  Maximilian  Eobespierre.  Perhaps  he  can  ob- 
tain a favor  for  you  that  would  be  refused  to  me. 
Go  see  young  Eobespierre.” 

“Thanks,  captain,”  cried  the  handsome  sergeant 
joyfully;  “and  perhaps  some  day  I may  be  able  to 
prove  my  gratitude.” 

Here  Bonaparte  raised  his  hand,  half  smilingly, 
half  seriously,  and  said  slowly  and  meaningly: 

“It  seems  to  me,  my  pretty  sergeant,  that  in  your 
desiro  to  enter  the  army,  and  be  with  your  brother^ 
you  have  changed  the  usual  dress  adopted  by  your 
sex.” 

The  so-called  handsome  sergeant  confessed  her 
secret,  which  Bonaparte  had  penetrated.  “Yes,  I 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


am  a woman,  but  pardon  me,  mon  capitaine^  and 
don’t  betray  me,  for  the  love  of  God.  Be  generous. 
Oh,  I know  you  will  be.  Eespectmy  disguise.  You 
will  kill  me  if  you  divulge  my  deceit.” 

^‘Ah,  I suspected  your  masquerade  from  the  first,” 
said  Bonaparte,  smiling  reassuringly  upon  the  girl  in 
uniform.  ‘‘But,”  he  asked,  “do  not  your  chiefs — 
do  not  your  comrades  suspect?  Do  they  see  nothing?” 

“Ah,  captain,  there  are  so  many  young  men  with- 
out beards  in  the  army,  and  besides  I do  my  duty 
seriously,”  answered  the  young  girl  proudly. 

“I  do  not  doubt  it,  but  I do  doubt  about  this 
Marcel  of  yours  being  your  brother.” 

The  handsome  sergeant  blushed. 

“He  is  your  lover,  is  he  not?” 

The  handsome  sergeant  blushed  more  deeply  still. 

“Well,”  said  Bonaparte  kindly,  “I  do  not  ask  your 
history,  and  I will  keep  your  secret.  If  I can  aid 
you,  count  on  me.  Go  and  see  young  Eobespierre. 
Tell  him  his  friend,  Bonaparte,  sent  you  to  him.” 

He  extended  his  hand  to  the  handsome  sergeant, 
who  looked  as  if  she  could  embrace  him.  Then  in  a 
transport  of  joy  the  girl-soldier  bade  him  adieu  and 
passed  out  radiant. 

“Ah!  how  I envy  her  and  him,”  muttered  Bona- 
parte when  left  alone.  “ They  Icve  each  other.  They 
will  tight  for  their  country  side  by  side.  Happy 
lives,  and,  if  must  be,  happy  deaths,  while  I — ” the 
melancholy  look  came  over  his  face  again. 

He  sat  down  at  his  table,  spread  out  his  chart,  and 
studied  the  location  of  Toulon,  the  great  seaport  of 
the  south.  “Oh,”  he  cried,  “if  I could  but  fight 
the  English  there.” 

And  his  eager  finger  pointed  on  the  map  to  a 
point— a place  unknown — a place  visible  to  him  alone 
— where  he  destroyed,  in  imagination,  the  British 
fleet. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


65 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  OATH  UKDER  THE  POPLARS — THE  IKVOLUl?^- 
TARY  EKLISTMEi^T. 

The  Count  de  Surg^res,  whose  ancestral  chateau, 
near  Laval,  was  reflected,  with  its  moldering  old  tur- 
rets, in  the  waters  of  the  Mayenne,  had  sought  shel- 
ter, at  the  very  first  mutterings  of  the  Revolution, 
beyond  the  Rhine. 

He  had  pitched  his  tent,  near  Coblenz,  resolved  to 
watch  the  course  of  events,  not  as  a participator  but 
in  quiet  as  a spectator. 

Nominally,  he  had  entered  the  military  service  of 
the  allied  princes,  but,  claiming  and  receiving  ex- 
emption, from  his  evident  infirmities  (though  only 
fifty  years  of  age),  he  devoted  himself  to  high  living’ 
and  to  looking  on,  under  the  protection  of  the  royal 
and  imperial  armies,  and  enjoyed  life  as  best  he  eould 
in  the  little  Rhenish  town. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  count  had  left  his  ancestral 
home  not  from  love  of  the  allied  princes,  nor  yet 
from  fear  of  the  rising  patriots.  Domestic  and  per- 
sonal reasons  impelled  him  to  this  step.  Himself  a 
childless  widower,  he  had  contracted,  years  ago,  a 
liaison  with  the  wife  of  one  of  his  nearest  neighbors 
and  most  intimate  friends,  by  whom  he  had  an  ille- 
gitimate child,  whose  existence  of  course  was  kept 
profoundly  secret.  No  trouble  had  arisen,  no  suspi- 
cion was  excited  in  th^  husband’s  breast,  but  th« 
Count  de  Surgdres  grew  tired  of  his  friend’s  wife. 

He  began  to  weary  of  the  slavery  of  love.  The 
lady  he  had  once  so  passionately  adored,  so  guiltily 
worshiped,  had  grown  not  only  older  and  uglier  but 
heavier.  She  looked  less  attractive,  and  she  weighed 
a great  deal  more.  Formerly  she  was  trim,  tender, 
elegant,  sylph-like — a Venus — but  now  she  was  sim- 


66 


MADAME  SAHrS-GEME.  . 


ply  so  much  avoirdupois.  Her  figure  lay  heavily  on 
his  soul.  She  was  a leaden  weight  upon  his  spirits. 

Of  all  ponderous  bodies,  the  most  ponderous  is  the 
woman  we  have  ceased  to  love. 

So  he  gladly  accompanied  the  lady’s  husband  to 
the  wars,  without  going,  as  has  been  shown,  to  war. 

As  for  his  illegitimate  daughter  he  left  her  to  the 
care  of  one  of  his  old  hunt-keepers,  called  Father  La 
Brisee,  who  had  reared  her  as  his  own  daughter. 
Her  name  was  Kenee,  and  she  grew  up  to  be  beauti- 
ful. She  had  been  educated  above  her  station,  and 
had  accquired  not  only  the  health  and  heartiness  of 
country  life  but  the  knowledge  that  is  imparted  in 
books  and  schools.  She  had  been  liberally  though 
indirectly  supplied  with  money  by  her  parents,  who 
did  for  her  everything  but  acknowledge  her,  and  she 
was  serenely  happy.  Her  favorite  pastime  was  to 
accompany  La  Brisee  on  his  hunting  expeditions. 
She  had  fallen  in  love  with  Marcel,  the  miller’s  son. 
Benee  was  seventeen  and  Marcel  was  entering  his 
twentieth  year. 

The  miller’s  son  had,  like  his  sweetheart,  received 
a liberal  education.  He  had  been  designed  for  the 
church,  but  took  up  the  study  of  medicine. 

The  two  met  every  day  beside  the  mill-stream, 
near  a grove  of  poplars.  Renee  took  a gun,  and  pre- 
tended to  go  hunting;  Marcel  took  a book  and  pre- 
tended to  be  reading.  It  answered  all  purposes. 

One  day  Mother  Toinnon,  the  hunt-keeper’s  wife, 
surprised  them  in  their  retreat,  and  discovered  their 
transparent  secret.  Neither  she  nor  her  husband 
made  any  objection;  they  felt  sure  that  the  real  par- 
ents of  the  girl  would  not  run  any  risk  of  compro- 
mising themselves  by  pretending  to  interfere.  But 
the  father  of  Marcel  would  not  permit  his  son  to 
marry  Ren6e.  Not  that  he  knew  aught  against  the 
girl,  but  because  one  Bertrand  le  Goez,  the  notary 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


67 


and  administrator  of  the  Count  de  Surg^res’  affairs, 
desired  himself  to  wed  the  girl,  and  had  bribed  Mar- 
cel’s father,  by  favors  to  his  mill,  to  aid  him  in  his 
suit,  and  rid  him  of  the  rivalry  of  his  son. 

But  Eenee  would  have  none  of  the  notary,  and 
she  would  have  Marcel.  She  pledged  herself  to  love 
him,  and  Marcel  vowed  to  love  her  always,  and  to 
wed  her  at  last. 

They  took  an  oath  under  the  poplar  trees  beside 
the  stream  to  be  faithful  to  each  other  until  death. 

Bertrand  le  Goez  set  his  spies  upon  the  lovers  and 
then  set  his  wits  to  work  to  part  them.  The  notary 
and  agent  was  in  his  little  world  a great  man,  and 
his  influence  was  widespread.  He  caused  constant 
annoyances  to  be  placed  in  the  way  of  Marcel,  till 
the  young  and  sensitive  fellow  was  goaded  into  the 
idea  of  emigrating  to  America,  whereupon  Eenee 
vowed  to  go  with  him  to  the  new  world.  What  was 
the  old  world  to  her  without  Marcel?  what  would 
any  world,  or  all  the  worlds,  have  been  to  her  with- 
out her  lover? 

Eenee,  go  to  America ! What  do  you  say  to  that, 
old  woman?”  asked  the  hunt-keeper  of  his  wife. 

“Why,  1 say,”  answered  the  old  woman,  “that  it 
will  never  do.  The  count  would  not  permit  it.  I 
must  tell  these  turtle  doves  something  they  do  not 
know.” 

And  then  Eenee  learned,  in  the  presence  of  Mar- 
cel, the  secret  of  her  parentage.  But  this  revelation 
made  not  a whit  of  difference  to  the  lovers.  Marcel 
would  have  taken  Eenee  for  his  wife  had  she  been 
the  illegitimate  child  of  Lucifer  himself,  and  thought 
himself  honored  as  well  as  happy  in  so  doing.  As 
for  Eenee  she  held  justly  that  her  parents  had  for- 
feited all  right  to  be  consulted  by  her,  in  any  affairs 
of  the  heart;  as  they  had  shown  themselves  without 
heart  to  her,  caring  more  for  the  world’s  opinion 


68 


MADAME  8AN8-0ENE. 


than  for  ner  affection.  She  should,  therefore,  with 
or  without  their  knowledge  and  consent,  give  herself 
to  the  man  she  loved.  The  irregularity  of  her  birth 
placed  her  beyond  the  conventionalities  of  society, 
and  she  was  free  to  love. 

Already  the  Eevolution  was  everywhere,  even  in 
the  quiet  country,  even  in  the  soul  of  a girl  like 
Eenee.  The  people,  even  young  maidens,  were 
thinking  for  themselves. 

But  ere  long  the  morbidly  sensitive  soul  of  Marcel 
discovered  a barrier  to  his  union  with  Eenee,  a barrier 
he  felt  that  a man  of  honor  could  not  overcome. 
Eenee,  he  found,  owing  to  the  pecuniary  liberality 
of  the  count  and  his  paramour,  was  comparatively 
rich,  while' he  was  comparatively  poor.  He  could 
not  consent  to  ruin  or  rob  the  woman  he  loved,  by 
wedding  her,  and  taking  her  from  the  sphere  of  those 
who  were  providing  for  her.  No,  he  would  go  to 
America  alone,  and  w'hen  he  had  become  a rich  man 
there,  then  he  would  send  or  come  for  Eenee. 

Yes,  he  publicly  announced  his  intention  of  emi- 
grating to  America,  when  suddenly  he  was  arrested 
on  the  charge  of  deserting  his  country.  Of  course 
the  arrest  had  been  instigated  by  the  notary,  his 
rival. 

Marcel  could  not  deny  the  fact  that  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  leaving  France  forever,  and  that  in  itself 
was  regarded  as  a crime  in  a Frenchman  at  that 
period.  Consequently  his  arrest  held  good,  and  he 
was  given  the  choice — if  choice  it  was — of  joining 
the  army  as  a regimental  surgeon,  stationed  at 
Angers,  or  of  being  sent  to  Angers  as  a prisoner. 

Marcel  was  distracted,  while  Bertrand  le  Goez 
watched  him  with  evident  enjoyment  of  his  confu- 
sion. La  Brisee  and  his  wife  looked  on  in  dazed 
silence. 

Ben6e  meantime  approached  Marcel,  and  handing 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


69 


him  a pen,  begged  him  to  sign  a paper  handed  to 
him  by  the  cooimmissioner  who  had  arrested  him, 
and  which  was  an  agreement  to  join  the  army  as  a 
surgeon. 

‘‘So  you  wish  me  to  leave  you,  leave  you  defense- 
less, leave  you  to  that  wretch,”  said  Marcel,  pointing 
to  Bertrand  lo  Goez. 

Eenee  answered  in  a whisper,  “Sign,  go  to  tho 
army,  for,”  she  added,  sinking  her  voice  still  lower, 
“I  shall  go  with  you,  I promise  it.” 

“ What!”  cried  Marcel  in  utter  astonishment,  “you 
go  among  soldiers,  you  go  to  the  army.” 

“Why  not?”  said  Eenee  calmly;  “I  can  make  up 
like  a boy,  and  I have  learned,  as  you  know,  in  my 
hunting  expeditions  with  my  father  here,”  pointing 
to  La  Brisee,  whom  she  regarded  still  as  her  parent, 
“to  shoot  like  a man.  I tell  you  I will  join  you,  so 
sign.” 

And  so  Marcel  signed.  Bertrand  le  Goez  retired, 
rubbing  his  hands  gleefully.  He  had  gained  his  end. 
Marcel  had  signed,  his  rival  was  going  away;  Eenee, 
of  whose  birth  he  knew  the  secret,  was  in  the  toils. 
Marcel  would  never  return,  and  if  he  did,  by  that 
time  Eenee  would  be  Madame  le  Goez.  But  he  cal- 
culated without  Eenee. 

She  met  Marcel  under  the  poplars — at  the  old 
trysting  place — that  night.  She  was  the  calmer  of 
the  two,  and  she  solemnly  repeated  her  promise  to 
join  him  in  his  regiment. 

“I  will  make  a fine-looking  soldier,”  she  assured 
him,  laughing  gayly. 

“But  the  fatigue,”  said  he;  “the  rations.” 

“I  can  endure  the  one  and  eat  the  other.” 

“But  if  you  should  be  wounded?” 

“Are  you  not  a surgeon?” 

No  more  was  to  be  said  and  Marcel  started  for  his 
regiment.  Several  days  after  the  departure  of  Mar- 


70 


MADAME  8AF8-GEME. 


cel,  about  dusk,  a young  man  was  walking  along  the 
country  road  slowly  but  steadily  in  the  direction  of 
Angers.  He  carried  a bundle  of  clothes  on  a cane, 
and  wore  the  uniform  of  the  National  Guards.  Ar- 
riving at  Angers  he  enrolled  himself  at  the  mayor’s 
office  as  a volunteer,  and  gave  the  name  of  Eenee 
Marcel,  the  son  of  Marcel  the  miller.  He  was  as- 
signed to  the  battalion  of  Mayenne-et-Loire. 

The  young  man  had  said  that  he  wished  to  join 
the  company  with  which  his  brother  Marcel  was  con- 
nected, and  so  she  was  admitted  without  any  difldculty 
or  the  least  suspicion.  She  was  not  by  hundreds  the 
only  girl  who  served  in  the  French  army  as  a man. 
The  regiments  of  the  revolution  were  full  of  female 
recruits. 

Among  the  military  annals  of  the  Eepublic  there 
are  many  records  of  glorious  service  rendered  by  these 
hero-women — ^these  warrior-maids — these  Joans  of 
Arc.  Their  names  give  luster  to  a deathless  page. 

Eenee  became  a prime  favorite  with  her  regiment, 
and  soon  rose  to  the  rank  of  silver  stripes.  She  was 
known  far  and  wide  as  “the  handsome  sergeant.” 
For  a brief  while  the  united  lovers  were  supremely 
happy,  spite  the  barriers  between  them ; then,  as  the 
Fates  would  have  it,  they  were  separated,  Marcel 
being  sent  to  the  Fourth  Artillery  at  Valence, 
where,  as  at  Toulon,  they  were  badly  in  need  of 
doctors. 

The  hour  for  parting  came.  They  were  compelled 
to  hide  their  feelings  from  the  whole  regiment  that 
witnessed  their  last  interview. 

They  embraced  each  other  and  promised  soon  to 
meet  again. 

They  took  it  for  granted  that  heaven  would  arrange 
things  for  their  benefit.  It  is  a way  young  lovers 
have. 

Then  Eenee  came,  on  leave  of  absence  to  Paris, 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


71 


and  called  on  Bonaparte,  as  we  have  seen  and  heard 
already. 

And,  thanks  to  the  protection  and  influence  of 
young  Eobespierre,  who  was  indeed  very  frieildly  to 
young  Bonaparte,  the  exchange  the  lovers  so  ardently 
desired  was  effected,  and  under  the  command  of 
Beaurepaire,  the  defender-hero  of  Verdun,  Eenee 
who  enlisted  for  love,  marched  side  by  side  with 
Marcel,  the  doctor  and  the  philosopher,  who  was  by 
this  time  a full-fledged  disciple  of  Jean  Jacques 
Eousseau,  the  apostle  of  peace,  a citizen  of  the  world, 
but  who  had  enlisted  because  he  could  not  help  it. 


OHAPTEK  XL 

THE  CONFIDENCE  OF  MADAME  SANS-GENE  AND  WHY 
SHE  DID  NOT  PKESENT  HER  LAUNDRY  BILL. 

After  “the  handsome  sergeant”  had  taken  his  or 
her  departure,  Bonaparte,  resuming  his  train  of 
thought,  began  once  more  his  studies  of  his  chart. 
Already  he  had  conceived  vast  projects,  some  of  which 
were  subsequently  undertaken,  for  the  defense  of  the 
Mediterranean  coast.  And  to-day  he  cast  a keen  yet 
glowing  glance  at  the  place  on  the  chart  where  were 
indicated  those  mountains  between  France  and  Pied- 
mont— the  key  to  Italy. 

He  looked  and  formed  strategic  combinations  in 
his  brain.  He  gazed  upon  the  chart,  then  grasped 
it  as  if  already  master  of  the  lands  and  seas  it  repre- 
sented. 

In  the  naiJst  of  his  busy,  brilliant  meditations,  a 
knock  at  ^he  door  caused  him  to  raise  his  head.  He 
was  imi^tient  at  being  again  disturbed.  “Who 
comes  i^ow,”  he  thought,  “some  creditor,  or  another 
visitor?  Probably  the  latter,  for  it  seems  fated  to 
be  a day  of  visits.  “ Who’s  there?”  he  growled. 


72 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE, 


A woman’s  voice — unmistakably  this  time  a wom- 
an’s— was  heard  outside.  ‘^It  is  I,”  it  said,  and  for 
further  explanation  of  the  the  voice  continued: 
^‘Catherine,  the  laundress.” 

^^Come  in,  then,”  he  growled  again. 

The  laundress  was  not  accustomed  to  meet  such 
an  unwelcome  reception.  She  felt  a little  hurt, 
and,  for  a wonder  for  her,  just  the  least  bit  in  the 
world  embarrassed.  She  entered  quietly,  however, 
and  taking  her  basket  from  her  arm,  said  almost 
with  an  apology  to  the  man  who  was  so  rude  to  her: 
‘‘Pray,  do  not  disturb  yourself,  captain,  I have 
brought  your  wash.  I — I thought  that  possibly  you 
might  need  your  clothes.” 

“ The  captain”  did  not  even  deign  to  look  up  from 
his  chart.  “ The  wash,”  he  said,  “ very  well.”  Then 
he  added  in  a tone  of  command,  “Put  them  there  on 
the  bed.” 

Catherine  for  a moment  stood  stock  still.  She 
was  amazed,  she  was  paralyzed,  she  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  be  commanded  by  her  customers,  especially 
by  a customer  in  arrears.  For  a moment  she  neither 
advanced  toward  the  bed  nor  retreated  toward  the 
door,  but  kept  her  basket  in  her  hand,  uncertain 
what  to  do.  But  finally  she  did  as  she  was  told,  and 
put  the  clothes  upon  the  bed.  “I  feel  like  a fool,” 
she  thought  to  herself,  as  she  obeyed  Bonaparte,  and 
arranged  his  wash  upon  his  cot,  “but  this  man  im- 
poses his  will  upon  me  in  a way  I cannot  resist.  He 
masters  me  in  a manner  that  is  beyond  my  power  to 
control.” 

Yes,  the  woman  who  was  famous  all  through  the 
Saint-Roche  quarter  of  Paris  for  doing  as  she  pleased, 
and  for  being  afraid  of  nobody,  the  woman  who  was 
known  as  Sans-Gene,  and  who  justified  that  title, 
felt  really  timid  in  the  presence  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


73 


Many  a king  and  queen  in  after  years  resembled 
Madame  Sans-Gene  in  this  respect. 

Having  arranged  the  clothes,  she  stared  at  the  bed. 
She  shifted  her  basket  on  her  arm,  and  then,  as  if  a 
sudden  thought  had  occurred  to  her,  she  felt  in  her 
apron  pocket  for  the  bill  which  she  brought  with 
her,  and  which  she  fully  intended  to  present  to  him 
this  time,  with  a demand  for  payment. 

And  yet  she  did  not  dare — yes,  “dare”  is  the  word 
— to  present  that  bill.  As  the  saying  is,  “she  shook 
in  her  shoes”  before  him. 

While  Bonaparte  continued,  utterly  heedless  of 
her  presence,  to  study  the  chart  before  him. 

She  was  not  accustomed  to  being  thus  entirely  ig- 
nored, this  Madame  Sans-Gene,  and  felt  uneasy 
under  this  new  sensation.  At  last  she  gave  her  dress 
a rustle,  she  shook  herself  slightly,  to  remind  him  of 
her  presence,  to  let  the  ex-captain  of  the  artillery 
know  that  she  was  there. 

But  at  first  he  took  no  heed  of  her  little  stratagem. 
“Well,”  thought  Catherine,  hulled,  “he  certainly  is 
not  at  all  gallant.  He  heeds  me  no  more  than  if  I 
was  not  a woman,  and  a good-looking  one,  some 
say.  Though  even  if  one  is  decent  and  proper,  and 
doesn’t  come  for  anything  out  of  the  way,  yet  one 
may  be  worth  looking  at.” 

And  once  more  she  rustled  her  dress  and  made  a 
movement. 

Bonaparte  looked  up  from  his  chart,  but  he  merely 
said:  “Oh,  you  are  still  here,  I see,”  and  looked 
down  again.  Then  raising  his  eyes  after  a minute 
or  more,  during  which  period  Catherine  stood  dum- 
founded,  he  asked  her  almost  rudely,  certainly 
abruptly,  “What  do  you  want?” 

“Citizen,”  answered  Catherine  eagerly,  now  that 
he  had  really  said  something  to  her,  “I  wanted  to- — ” 
She  paused. 


74  MADAME  SANS-GENE. 

“To  what?’’  asked  Bonaparte. 

She  had  intended  to  say:  “Ask  yon  for  some 
money,”  but  what  she  really  said  now  was:  “To  tell 
you  that  I am  about  to  be  married.” 

At  that  moment  the  laundress  could  not  have  asked 
her  delinquent  customer  to  settle  his  little  bill.  No, 
not  even  if  Lefebvre  had  told  her  to  do  so. 

She  felt  glad  to  escape  the  bill  by  talking  of  her- 
self and  her  love  affairs — something  personal,  not 
pecuniary.  She  preferred  to  take  her  customer  into 
her  confidence  rather  than  to  present  his  account. 

Bonaparte  at  her  communication  looked  at  her 
with  a shade  of  annoyance  in  his  face.  Her  naive 
confession  served  to  pleasantly  distract  his  brooding 
fancies.  He  thought  of  “the  pretty  sergeant”  and 
her  love  secret.  This  was  the  second  affair  of  the 
heart  that  had  been  forced  upon  his  notice  within 
the  hour. 

He  glanced  at  Catherine  as  she  stood  before  him. 
Eosy  as  a red-cheeked  pippin,  with  her  fine  bust 
heaving  under  her  linen  kerchief.  Either  her  allu- 
sion to  her  marriage,  or  the  presence  of  the  ex-artil- 
lery captain,  made  her  lose  the  gift  she  most  prided 
herself  upon — her  self-possession.  She  was  a pretty 
sight  to  look  at,  and  Bonaparte,  in  spite  of  himself, 
smiled  approvingly. 

“Ah,  you  are  going  to  marry,”  he  said,  coldly  per- 
haps, but  not  as  before  roughly.  “Well,  so  much 
the  better  for  you,  my  girl.”  Then  more  kindly,  “I 
wish  you  joy.” 

Catherine  courtesied. 

“I  presume,”  continued  Bonaparte,  “that  you  are 
going  to  marry  some  good  fellow  who  keeps  a 
laundry.” 

“Keeps  a laundry!”  repeated  Catherine,  almost 
with  scorn.  “No,  indeed,  I am  going  to  marry  a 
soldier,  a sergeant.” 


MADAME  SAMSr-OENE. 


75 


‘‘Ah,  is  it  so;”  said  Bonaparte  more  kindly,  “You 
do  well  to  marry  a soldier,  mademoiselle.  To  be  a 
soldier  is  to  be  doubly  a Frenchman.  Once  more  I 
wish  you  joy.” 

And  then  he  looked  down  upon  his  chart  again. 
But  Catherine,  somehow,  did  not  leave  the  room. 
And  soon  Bonaparte  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled. 

Eeally,  even  in  ill-luck,  one  could  not  help  smil- 
ing at  Catherine.  She  looked  so  plump,  so  pretty, 
so  rosy-cheeked,  and  so  mischievous,  although  her 
manner  had  seemed  to  be  so  reserved,  and  she  had 
looked  so  demurely,  hypocritically  quiet,  when  she 
had  entered  the  room  with  her  basket  on  her  arm. 

Bonaparte  was  pleased  with  her  appearance.  Above 
all,  he  was  pleased  to  notice  she  was  stout — not  too 
stout,  however;  perhaps  “plump”  is  the  word.  Bon- 
aparte as  man  and  as  emperor  was  always  fond  of 
large,  plump  women.  When  young  and  poor  and  an 
officer,  when  older  and  more  nervous  as  a consul, 
and  when  in  full  feather  as  the  ruler  of  Europe, 
Napoleon  always  surrounded  himself  with  plump 
women,  if  he  could. 

And  now,  at  this  particular  moment,  Catherine’s 
well-rounded  beauty  charmed  him  and  drew  him  out 
of  the  sphere  of  his  strategetical  calculations. 

Ho  even  felt  inclined  to  play  the  gallant  with  her. 
But  he  was  always  rather  brutally  direct  in  his  ad- 
vances, and  now  he  almost  rushed  at  the  young 
laundress,  and  put  his  heavy  hand  upon  her  soft, 
white  neck. 

Thereupon  Catherine  promptly  shrieked,  not 
shrilly,  but  very  properly,  yet  not  loud  enough  to 
summon  anybody  to  her  assistance. 

Bonaparte  never  hesitated  either  in  war  or  love. 
He  began  the  attack,  he  redoubled  his  attentions  and 
embraces,  he  made  the  laundress  retreat,  but  toward 
the  bed.  Beaching  that,  however,  Catherine  sat  down. 


76 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


and  insisting  on  sitting  bolt  upright  commenced 
to  defend  herself.  This  she  did,  without  any  false 
modesty,  however,  and  without  showing  that  she 
felt  frightened,  or  even  implying  that  there  was  any- 
thing to  be  frightened  at. 

Bonaparte  by  this  time  had  forgotten  all  about  his 
charts,  his  ambition,  Toulon  and  the  Mediterranean. 
His  sole  aim  now  was  to  reach  Catherine,  and  to  con- 
quer his  laundress.  The  latter  made,  as  it  were,  an 
outwork  of  her  basket;  she  placed  it  before  her,  and 
between  her  pursuer  and  herself,  like  a gabion;  ex- 
olaiming,  as  she  did  so:  ‘^No,  no,  captain!  it  is  too 
late  for  this.  You  cannot  take  me,  for  I have  al- 
ready capitulated.  So  my  husband  says.” 

^^Eeally,”  said  Bonaparte,  desisting  from  his  gal- 
lantries. ‘‘Oh,  then  this  marriage  of  yours  is  really 
something  serious.” 

“Very  serious  indeed  to  me,”  answered  Catherine, 
rising,  and  then,  wishing  to  turn  the  conversation, 
she  said : “And  I came  to  tell  you,  that  as  I am  going 
to  be  married,  I cannot  do  your  washing  any  longer.” 

“What!  will  you  shut  up  shop,  my  pretty  one?” 

“Yes;  for  a shop  would  do  badly  in  such  times  as 
these.  And  then,  besides,  like  a good  wife  I shall 
want  to  follow  my  husband.” 

“What!  in  his  regiment — on  the  march?”  asked 
Bonaparte. 

“Why  not?”  asked  Catherine. 

“I’ve  met  a case  like  yours  before,”  said  Bona- 
parte, thinking  of  the  handsome  sergeant.  “Ah!  the 
army  will  have  more  than  one  family,”  he  muttered. 

“So  you,  too,  are  going  to  fire  powder  and,  per- 
haps, manage  a cannon,”  he  continued,  addressing 
Catherine  in  a bantering,  almost  teasing  manner. 

“I  have  already  learned  how  to  use  a gun,”  said 
Catherine;  “but  1 have  had  no  experience  yet  with 
cannon.  I should  be  glad  to  take  lessons  from  you 


MADAME  SANS-^QENE. 


77 


in  artillery  matters,  mon  capitaine^^^  she  went  on 
laughingly,  ‘‘but  you  see  my  husband  that  is  to  be 
is  in  the  infantry.  But  seriously,  captain,  I shall 
not  fight  if  I can  help  it,  but  I want  to  aid  and  com- 
fort the  fighters.  They  need  canteen  carriers  in  the 
regiments,  and  I intend  to  carry  drink  to  my  hus- 
band’s comrades.  I may  even  hope  to  have  your 
patronage.  Captain  Bonaparte,”  she  exclaimed,  with 
a low  courtesy,  “if  you  should  serve  with  us.” 

“Consider  me  one  of  your  best  customers,  made- 
moiselle,” said  Bonaparte;  “but,”  he  added  some- 
what sadly,  “not  yet.  The  minister  of  war  will  not 
let  me  fight  or — ” eat,  he  was  about  to  say,  but  he 
checked  himself  and  substituted  the  words  “nor 
spend  money  at  the  canteen.  But  perhaps  things 
may  all  come  round  in  time,  but  later  on,  perhaps, 
too  late.” 

He  sighed  and  went  back  to  his  chart  and  table. 
Catherine,  without  a word,  respecting  his  feelings 
and  his  work,  rearranged  the  wash  upon  the  bed, 
gave  the  snowy  little  pile  a few  last  feminine  smooth- 
ings, and  then,  disturbed  in  her  own  breast  by  the 
sadness  of  her  customer,  whose  story  she  knew  well, 
she  with  a silent  courtesy  left  him,  but  suddenly  she 
returned.  “Oh,”  she  said  hurriedly,  “I  forgot  to 
tell  you,  captain,  but  I ruined  one  of  your  shirts  by 
accident,  but  1 have  replaced  it.  It  is  there,  the  new 
shirt,  along  with  the  drawers  and  the  handkerchiefs.” 
Then  more  slowly  and  softly,  she  said:  Au  revoir. 
mon  capitaine.'^^ 

Bonaparte  looked  up  from  his  chart  with  one  of 
those  rare,  sweet,  potent  smiles  of  his.  “ revoir^ 
ma  he  replied,  “and  luck  to  your  canteen,” 

then  he  turned  him  to  his  chart. 

Catherine  walked  slowly* down  the  stairs  of  the 
Hotel  de  Metz,  and  while  descending  thought  of 
various  things.  First  she  half  smiled,  half  frowned 


78 


MADAME  SANS-^QEFE. 


as  she  recalled  how  she  had  resolved  to  present  the 
man  she  had  just  left  with  his  wash  bill,  and  how 
she  had  utterly  failed,  never  even  alluding  to  the  bill. 

“I  really  hadn’t  the  courage  to  tell  him  about  it. 
Somehow  he  can  do  everything  with  me,  that  Bona- 
parte, everything  but  make  me  forget  Lefebvre.  But 
he’ll  pay  me  someday;  I believe  in  him;  he  is  bound 
to  rise,  and  there’s  no  telling  how  high,  either.  Men 
like  him  are  not  easily  satisfied.  Fouch6  laughs  at 
him,  or  pretends  to,  but  I have  every  faith  in  this 
Bonaparte.  I am  sure  he  will  make  his  way.” 

Then  she  recalled,  half  smiling,  half  blushing,  the 
memories  of  Bonaparte’s  recent  attempts  at  gallantry. 
“ How  he  tormented  me,  that  captain ; he  even  forgot 
his  chart  and  papers  for  me.  Well,  there  was  no 
harm  in  pour  passer  le  temps!  It  didn’t  hurt  me, 
and  it  amused  him,  and  poor  fellow,  he  has  had  but 
little  amusement  lately.  Poor  young  man !” 

She  paused,  blushed  a little  more,  and  added,  in 
her  thoughts:  ‘‘If  he  had  really  desired  it.  But,  oh, 
no,  not  now;  at  some  other  time,  before  I was  prom- 
ised to  Lefebvre.  In  that  case  it  might  have  been,” 
and  she  felt  a sort  of  retrospective  regret  for  her  own 
coyness  to  the  thin  sad-eyed  artillery  captain. 

“But,”  she  continued  to  herself  gayly,  “he  did 
not  think  of  it  really,  or  he  would  not  have  done  it.” 

Then  her  reflections  took  a new  direction. 
“Enough  of  this  Bonaparte,”  she  thought;  “I  must 
run  and  see  if  my  Lefebvre  is  not  at  the  shop.  He 
may  be  growing  impatient,  and  I must  not  keep  Mm 
waiting,  for  he  loves  me  well.  He  will  make  me  a 
far  better  husband  than  Captain  Bonaparte.” 

Pull  of  anticipation,  she  walked  through  the  streets 
quickly,  and  as  she  reached  her  shop  she  found  a 
crowd  around  it.  There  were  noises  and  cries, 
laughter,  and  merriment.  The  entire  neighborhood 
was  aroused,  and  looking  she  saw  Lefebvre,  no  longer 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE, 


79 


with  a gun,  and  without  his  buff  coat,  but  bearing 
in  his  hand  a splendid  sword,  ornamented  with  a 
golden  dragon.  His  comrades  joyously  surrounded 
him;  he  was  the  center  o£  attraction;  they  were  car- 
rying him  along  in  triumph. 

Lefebvre  saw  Catherine  and  stopped  in  his  trium- 
phal march  beside  her.  “1  am  now  a lieutenant,” 
he  cried  proudly. 

Catherine’s  plump  figure  seemed  to  expand,  though 
she  could  not  speak  a word.  She  was  silent  from 
sheer  fullness  of  pride. 

^^Long  live  Lieutenant  Lefebvre,”  shouted  the 
members  of  the  National  Guard,  throwing  their 
hats  up  into  the  air,  and  twirling  their  guns. 

“And  long  live  Citizeness  Lefebvre  here,”  cried 
the  new  lieutenant,  pointing  to  the  happy  Catherine. 
“She  is  my  wife,  my  comrades,  or  will  be.  We  are 
to  be  married  next  week.” 

“Long  live  Citizeness  Lefebvre,”  shouted  the 
guards  again,  with  more  throwing  up  of  hats  and 
more  twirling  of  guns.  And  “long  live  Madame 
Sans-G^ne,”  shouted  all  the  crowd  of  neighbors  and 
bystanders.  For  Catherine  was  popular  throughout 
the  quarter. 

Catherine  smiled  and  acknowledged  the  compli- 
ments bestowed  upon  her.  Still,  thoughtful  of 
others,  even  in  the  moment  of  her  own  glory,  she 
whispered  to  Lefebvre:  “ Lot  them  not  shout  so  loud, 
for”  (mindful  of  the  Chevalier  du  Poignard,  still 
lying  on  her  bed  in  her  room)  “ they  will  make  our 
sick  man  worse.” 


Meantime,  in  his  little  cheerless  room  in  the  Hotel 
de  Metz  Bonaparte  had  finished  for  the  day  his  study 
of  his  chart,  and  had  turned  his  attention  to  his 
clothes.  He  was  orderly  and  systematic  in  his  habits, 
and  he  took  the  various  pieces  of  linen  which  the 


80 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


laundress  had  laid  down  on  his  bed,  and  re-arranged 
them  on  a plain  deal  shelf  along  the  wall. 

Then  he  looked  for  something  and  could  not  find 
it.  ‘‘She  has  forgotten  to  leave  the  bill,”  he  said. 
“Well,  it  is  better  so,  for  I would  have  had  to  tell 
her  that  I could  not  pay  her  to-day,  nor  to-morrow,” 
he  sighed,  “nor  the  day  after.  She  is  a good  sonl 
and  I must  owe  her,  let  me  see,”  he  calculated, 
“thirty  francs  at  least.  The  devil!”  he  ejaculated, 
“thirty  francs;  that  is  a good  deal  of  money  to  her, 
and  more  to  me.  I shall  settle  with  her  in  full  as 
soon  as  ever  I get  anything.  She  is  a good,  kind 
girl  this  Catherine,  as  well  as  a pretty  and  a plump 
one,  and  I shall  not  forget  her  or  her  bill.  But 
now  I must  dress;  it  is  the  day  I dine  with  the  Per- 
mons — my  one  dinner  a week.”  And  the  future 
emperor  prepared  to  change  his  clothes  and  to  attire 
himself  in  his  only  good  suit. 

And  as  he  dressed  he  thought  kindly  of  Catherine 
Sans-Gene,  and  was  touched  alike  by  the  confidence 
she  had  reposed  in  him  concerning  her  own  love 
affairs,  and  the  delicacy  she  had  shown  in  forgetting 
to  present  him  with  his  little  bill.  “For  she  forgot 
it  on  purpose,  I am  half-inclined  to  believe,”  said 
Bonaparte,  to  himself. 

The  delicacy  and  the  little  confidential  communi- 
cation of  Catherine,  his  laundress,  lingered  long  in 
Napoleon’s  memory,  and  led  him  years  afterward  to 
speak  and  think  with  favor  of  her. 

As  for  Catherine,  after  many  years  had  passed, 
she  received,  in  the  most  unexpected  manner,  more 
than  payment  of  the  wash  bill  she  had  “forgotten” 
to  present. 

And  our  readers,  as  they  follow  us  in  the  pages  of 
this  story,  will  find  again,  and  hear  more  about  the 
personages  we  have  already  introduced  to  them.  The 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


81 


love  affairs  and  personal  adventures  of  the  Chevalier 
dn  Poignard,  the  Count  de  Neipperg  and  his  lovely 
Blanche,  the  marches  of  the  pretty  sergeant  and  her 
devoted  Marcel,  these  will  be  related  in  full.  Little 
Henriot  will  figure  in  the  future  of  the  story,  new 
personages  will  be  introduced,  and  new  light  will 
be  shed  on  the  personalities  of  Napoleon  and  of 
Josephine. 

And,  above  all,  the  numerous  escapades  and  excit- 
ing adventures  of  Catherine  Upscher,  the  laundress, 
later  on  the  Marechale  Lefebvre,  and  Duchess  de 
Dantzig,  will  be  given  to  the  world,  the  life  narrative 
of  the  woman,  ever  sympathetic,  ever  popular,  the 
good  girl,  the  jolly  companion,  the  heroic  and  chari- 
table woman,  who  bore  the  Parisian  nickname  of 
Madame  Sans-Gene. 


82 


MADAME  8AN&-aENE. 


BOOK  SECOND. 

THE  CANTEEN  BEARER.. 

CHAPTER  XII.  ^ 

THE  POST-CHAISE — THE  FRUIT  SHOP — THE  LADY  OF 
ST.  CYR — napoleon’s  FIRST  DEFEAT. 

^^Ah,  see,  they  will  not  stop  here.  The  postilion 
cracks  his  whip  as  he  passes  L’Ecn;  he  does  not 
seem  to  even  see  us.” 

‘‘Travelers  are  not  as  numerous  as  they  should  be 
nowadays.” 

“They  are  out  of  sight.  They  are  going  to  the 
Lion  d’Or.” 

“Or,  perhaps,  to  the  Cheval  Blanc.” 

Such  were  the  words,  alternated  with  sighs,  ex- 
changed between  the  fat  inn-keeper  of  the  Hotel  de 
L’Ecu  and  his  equally  fat  wife,  as  they  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  chief  tavern  at  Dammarten,  looking 
at  a vehicle  which  had  passed  on. 

Passengers  in  coaches  were  rare  indeed  after  the 
events  which  transpired  after  the  fifteenth  of  June. 

And  the  vehicle  which  had  appeared  to  and  then 
disappeared  from  the  longing  gaze  of  the  inn-keeper 
at  L’Ecu,  had  left  Paris  early  that  evening,  and  was 
really  the  last  coach  which  got  safely  over  the  border. 

For  an  order  had  been  issued  to  prevent  any  equi- 
page from  leaving  Paris  that  very  night,  as  soon  as 


MADAME  8AES-GENE. 


83 


the  Parisians  had  resolved  to  take  the  Tnileries  at 
dawn. 

The  coach  contained  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  and 
his  factotum,  Leonard. 

The  baron,  scenting  danger,  had  postponed  his 
marriage  with  Mdlle.  Laveline,  and  had  left  Paris, 
traveling  like  one  who  feared  for  his  life. 

He  was  bound  for  his  chateau  near  the  village  of 
Jemmapes,  on  the  Belgian  border.  He  thought  he 
certainly  would  be  safe  from  the  revolution  there; 
besides,  the  army  of  the  Prince  of  Brunswick  was 
assembled  on  the  Belgian  frontier. 

Fearful  as  the  baron  was,  yet  he  was  also  hopeful. 
He  would  still  marry  Mdlle.  Laveline  on  the  sixth 
of  November.  Meanwhile  he  would  arrange  some 
pressing  business  matters  at  the  town  of  Verdun, 
where  he  owned  a large  tobacco  farm. 

His  man  Leonard  saw  to  the  creature  comforts  of 
the  baron  on  his  travels,  arranged  the  relays  of 
horses,  and  attended  to  all  other  minor  matters. 

This  man  Leonard  was  as  keen  as  he  was  servile 
and  unprincipled. 

Not  dreaming  of  his  real  character,  or  lack  of 
character,  it  was  to  this  cunning  rascal  that  Made- 
moiselle Blanche  de  Laveline  had  entrusted  the  letter 
already  alluded  to,  in  which  she  had  confessed  all  to 
jthe  baron. 

This  letter,  the  young  lady  had  instructed  him, 
was  not  to  be  given  tu  the  baron  till  he  had  left 
I Paris.  This  injunction  set  Leonard’s  wits  to  work. 
(What  could  such  a mysterious  letter  contain? 

/‘The  secrets  of  masters  and  mistresses  are  the 
fortunes  of  servants,”  said  Leonard,  as  he  finally  and 
'deliberately  opened  and  read  the  letter.  Its  contents 
(were  as  follows: 

^“Monsieur  le  Barok:  I owe  you  a guilty 


84 


MADAME  SANS-GENK 


avowal,  which  I must  make,  that  I may  dispel  an 
illusion  concerning  me,  which  facts  would  not  take 
long  to  disclose. 

You  have  given  me  some  affection,  and  you  have 
'obtained  my  father’s  consent  to  a marriage  in  which 
you  have  thought  to  find  happiness,  perhaps  love. 

‘^Good  fortune  cannot  come  to  you  from  such  a 
union;  I could  promise  you  no  love,  for  my  heart 
belongs  to  another.  Forgive  me  that  I do  not  give 
you  his  name,  who  possesses  all  my  soul,  and  whose 
wife  I consider  myself  to  be,  before  God! 

‘^1  have  a final  revelation  to  make  to  you.  I am  a 
mother.  Monsieur  le  Baron,  and  death  alone  could 
part  me  from  my  husband,  the  father  of  my  little 
Henriot.  I shall  follow  M.  de  Laveline  to  Jem- 
mapes,  since  he  desires  it;  but  I trust  that,  informed 
of  ;the  obstacle  which  stands  immovably  against  the 
fufillment  of  your  plans,  you  will  pity  and  spare  me 
the  shame  of  having  to  tell  my  father  the  real  cause 
which  makes  this  union  impossible. 

* ‘‘l^rely,  monsieur,  on  your  discretion  as  a gallant 
man.  Burn  this  letter  and  believe  in  my  gratitude 
and  my  friendship. 

‘‘Blanche.” 

Leonard’s  surprise  on  reading  this  letter  was  great — 
his  satisfaction  was  greater.  “Who  would  have 
imagined  that  Mademoiselle  Blanche  had  an  illegiti- 
mate child,  and  who  on  earth  would  have  imagined 
that  she  would  confess  the  fact  to  the  baron  of  all 
men.  What  creatures  women  are!  She  doesn’t 
know  how  stupid  she  was  to  commit  herself  thus  in 
writing.  It  is  well  for  her  it  was  I who  discovered 
her  secret.  Well,  she  can’t  deny  her  own  handwrit- 
ing. Happily  it  is  I to  whom  she  has  confided  her 
honor  and  her  fortune.  She  will  pay  well  for  this 
scrap  of  paper  some  day — after  she  has  become  Bar- 


MADAME  SANS-GEJSTE. 


85 


oness  de  Lowendaal.  I shall  ask  a stiflE  pnce  for  it, 
and  perhaps  I may  want  more  than  money.  Made- 
moiselle is  handsome,  and  will  be  wholly  in  my 
power;  but  this  is  an  after  coiisideration.  I must 
now  guard  this  paper,  and  encourage  more  than  ever 
my  master’s  hopes  of  marrying  mademoiselle.” 

While  Leonard  was  reading  the  letter  intended  for 
the  baron  and  soliloquizing  over  it,  the  baron  was 
wondering  where  Leonard  had  gone  to.  But  return- 
ing to  the  inn,  the  servant  explained  to  his  master 
that  he  had  been  making  the  final  preparations  for 
their  departure  to  Verdun. 

The  baron  was  satisfied,  and  in  high  spirits  re- 
entered the  carriage,  which  rolled  thundering  along 
the  road  which  was  no  longer  “the  king’s  highway,” 


At  the  door  of  her  fruit  shop,  in  the  Kue  de  Mont- 
reuil,  at  Versailles,  Mother  Hoche  was  serving  her 
customers,  and  occasionally  watching  a little  rosy, 
chubby  boy,  who  was  playing  between  the  piles  of 
cabbage  and  the  heaps  of  carrots. 

“Henriot!  Henriot!  don’t  eat  that!  you  will  make 
yourself  sick,”  she  cried  out,  now  and  then,  as  the 
little  fellow  tackled  the  raw  carrots  and  turnips. 

And  then  thinking,  “ What  an  appetite  the  little 
imp  has,  to  be  sure,  but  what  a sweet  babe  he  is,  all 
the  same,”  she  turned  and  waited  on  her  customers. 

Suddenly  she  gave  a loud  cry  of  surprise  and  joy, 
for  she  saw  a tall  young  fellow,  in  a grenadier’s 
uniform,  approaching  her,  accompanied  b^y  a good- 
looking  lieutenant  with  a buxom  woman  leaning  on 
his  arm. 

The  newcomers  were  Lazare  Hoche,  Mother 
Hoche’s  adopted  son,  and  Lieutenant  and  Madame 
Lefebvre. 

After  salutations  and  conversation  Lefebvre  and 
Hoche  departed  for  a stroll — so  they  said — and  the  two 


86 


MADAME  SAMS-GENK 


women  remained  behind.  Mother  Hoche  preparing  a 
ragout  of  goose  and  turnips  to  greet  the  two  men  on 
their  return,  Catherine  helping  to  scrape  the  turnips, 
also  to  shell  peas,  and  kill  a chicken  for  a stuJffed 
omelette  to  complete  the  repast. 

And  then  the  two  women  talked  about  little  Hen- 
riot,  and  Catherine  told  Mother  Hoche  how  she  had 
been  sent  by  the  child’s  mother  to  take  him  from 
her. 

Mother  Hoche  was  very  sorry  to  part  with  the 
little  fellow,  to  whom  she  had  become  greatly 
attached. 

‘‘Must  you  take  the  boy  away  at  once?”  she  asked 
of  Catherine.  “ Can’t  you  leave  him  here  with  me 
and  call  i.or  him  at  some  other  time,  at  the  very  last 
moment?” 

“But  I can’t  call  again,”  said  Catherine;  “fori 
am  going  with  my  husband  to  the  army.” 

“You — pretty  one,”  said  Mother  Hoche  amazed; 
“you  going  to  the  wars?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Catherine,  “I  have  a commission 
in  my  pocket  as  canteen-bearer  to  the  thirteenth 
regiment.” 

And  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a great  official  doc- 
ument, signed  and  sealed  with  the  war-office  seal. 
“I  must  join  my  regiment  in  oight  hours.  We  are 
going  to  Verdun  to  root  out  the  royalists  there  who 
are  conspiring  with  Brunswick.” 

“Ah!  so  you  are  going  to  be  a canteen-bearer,” 
said  old  Mother  Hoche,  looking  as  she  felt,  envious 
of  Catherine’s  luck.  “Ah,  it  is  a fine  lot — none 
finer,  to  my  notion.  One  marches  to  the  beat  of  the 
drum,  one  sees  the  country,  one  always  carries  wel- 
come, as  well  as  wine,  with  one;  for  the  soldier  is  at 
his  best  at  the  side  of  the  canteen.  He  forgets  his 
misery,  he  dreams  of  being  a corporal,  maybe  a gen- 
eral, and  then  when  the  battle  begins,”  cried  the  old 


MADAME  SAMS-GEWR 


87 


woman,  excited  at  her  own  words;  ‘‘one  feels  that 
one  is  not  a useless  Avoman,  mere  tears  and  fears,  but 
a part  of  the  army,  giving  courage  to  the  defenders 
of  one’s  native  land,  making  heroes  with  her  eau  de 
vie  at  two  sons  per  glass.  Ah ! the  cantiniere^s  cask 
has  more  than  once  decided  the  conflict  and  given 
the  victory;  but,”  becoming  calmer,  “how  are  you 
going  to  take  care  of  little  Henriot?”  she  asked,  “in 
the  camp,  in  march  and  battle?” 

“Oh,”  answered  Catherine,  with  some  pride,  “I 
can  see  to  that  well  enough.  As  canteen-bearer  of 
the  Thirteenth  Eegiment  I am  entitled  to  a horse  and 
wagon,  and  we  have  already  bought  a complete  turn- 
out.” She  spoke  as  though  she  were  describing  her 
equipage  in  the  Bois.  “I  sold  out  my  laundry,  and 
Lefebvre  when  he  married  received  a small  inherit- 
ance from  his  father,  the  miller,  and  with  our  econ- 
omy we  will  want  for  nothing.  The  little  lad  shall 
be  treated  like  a general’s  son.” 

Mother  Hoche  was  fain  to  be  content,  but  at  that 
moment  Lazare  Hoche  and  Lefebvre  returned  from 
their  stroll.  Hoche  wore  a bloody  handkerchief  for 
a bandage;  it  covered  half  his  face,  hiding  a deep 
cut,  which  always  remained  a scar. 

Mon  DienP'^  cried  Mother  Hoche,  “where  have 
you  been  walTcing?  what  has  happened?  Ah,  you 
have  taken  him  somewhere  where  they  have  tried  to 
kill  him.  Lieutenant  Lefebvre,”  she  continued  an- 
grily- 

But  Hoche  explained,  after  quieting  his  adopted 
mother’s  fears,  and  showing  that  he  was  not  seriously 
hurt. 

He  had  been  fighting  a duel,  with  Lefebvre  for 
his  second,  with  a lieutenant  named  Serre,  who  had 
not  only  ill-treated  himself,  but  insulted  the  wife  of 
his  friend,  Lefebvre. 

Lefebvre  would  have  taken  a principal’s  share  in 


88 


MADAME  8ANS-GEME. 


the  duel  himself,  but  Hoche  had  two  wrongs  to 
avenge — his  own  as  well  as  his  friend’s — and  so  took 
precedence.  The  explanations  being  made,  and 
Catherine,  who  had  been  privy  to®  the  affair,  having 
warmly  thanked  her  husband’s  comrade,  and  the 
champion  of  her  honor,  Lefebvre  clamored  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  ‘‘Yes,  as  your  ragout  is  ready,  dear 
old  mother,”  said  Hoche,  “let  us  talk  of  other  mat- 
ters, and  discuss  your  goose  and  turnips ” 

“And  chicken  omelette,”  added  Catherine. 

“But  your  wound,  I cannot  forget  that,  my  boy,” 
cried  old  Mother  Hoche. 

“Bah!”  said  Hoche,  as  he  and  the  rest  sat  down 
to  the  ragout  and  omelette;  “I  have  forgotten  it 
already,  and  doubtless  ere  long  the  Austrians  and 
Eussians  will  give  me  some  more ‘cuts,  so  one  more 
or  less  won’t  matter;  besides  it  is  dry  already. 
See.” 

And  almost  gayly  the  brave  lad  raised  the  hand- 
kerchief which  covered  his  head,  and  showed  the 
wound  which,  however,  always  remained  a deep  scar, 
marring  the  martial  countenance  of  the  man  who  be- 
came the  famous  fighting  general  of  Sambre-et- 
Meuse. 

The  repast  ended,  Mother  Hoche  and  Catherine 
made  every  preparation  for  the  departure  of  little 
Henriot. 

They  packed  his  holiday  clothes  in  a trunk,  and 
to  its  contents  were  added  boxes  of  sweetmeats,  cakes 
and  candies,  ^he  gift  of  old  Mother  Hoche. 

The  child  himself  considerably  helped  the  prepara- 
tions for  his  departure.  Childhood  loves  change. 

Childhood  is  also  carelessly  ungrateful.  Little 
Henriot  forgot  the  tenderness  of  old  Mother  Hoche, 
and  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  going  away  with 
Catherine. 

Meanwhile  Lefebvre  and  young  Hoche  sat  along- 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


89 


side  of  the  Montreuil  road,  langhiog,  smoking,  and 
watching  the  crowd  of  passers-by. 

This  Montreuil,  called  at  present  the  Avenue  de 
Saint-Cloud,  was  then  the  highway  for  foot  passen- 
gers from  Paris — farm-ers,  soldiers,  rustics. 

For  economy,  many  travelers  took  the  river  boat 
to  La  Samaritaine,  at  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  from  the 
Sevres  bridge  went  on  foot  to  and  from  Versailles. 

Among  these  last,  Lefebvre  suddenly  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a thin,  short  young  man,  with  rather  long 
hair,  with  a uniform  of  the  artillery  corps,  but  rather 
shabby,  almost  worn  out.  He  seemed  in  a hurry 
and  was  escorting  a young  girl  in  a faded  black  dress, 
carrying  in  her  hand  a small  package,  half  box,  half 
bundle,  and  both  man  and  girl  seemed  sad. 

do  believe  that’s  Captain  Bonaparte,”  said 
Lefebvre. 

‘‘Who’s  Bonaparte?”  asked  Hoche. 

“A  good  Eepublican,  an  excellent  artilleryman, 
a red-hot  Jacobin,  and  a Corsican,”  replied  Lefebvre. 
“He  got  into  some  trouble  in  his  native  island — they 
are  mostly  aristocrats  there.  But  I’ll  ask  my  wife 
about  him,  she  knows  him  better  than  I do.” 

He  called  for  Catherine  who  came,  somewhat  sur- 
prised. 

“What  does  my  husband  want?”  she  asked,  placing 
her  hands  on  her  wide  hips,  her  favorite  attitude, 
a habit  which  clung  to  her  long  in  after  life. 

“Is  not  that  man  yonder  Captain  Bonaparte?” 
asked  Lefebvre,  pointing. 

“Yes,”  said  Catherine  positively ; “I’d  know  him 
in  a million,  and  not  because  he  owes  me  for  his 
washing  either,”  she  added.  “I  like  that  Captain 
Bonaparte,  but  what  is  he  doing  with  that  girl?” 

“Call  him  and  find  out,”  suggested  Lefebvre. 

“All  right,”  cried  Catherine;  “and  we  had  better 
invite  him  and  the  girl  to  take  refreshment.  He 


90 


MADAME  JSAM8-GEMR 


must  be  warm  and  tired,  and.  the  road  is  dusty,  but 
go  you  and  ask  him.” 

Lefebvre  ran  and  overtook  Bonaparte.  The  latter 
vowed  that  he  was  neither  warm  nor  thirsty,  and 
said  further  that  he  and  his  companion  were  in  a 
hurry  to  take  the  boat  at  Sevres. 

‘‘Bah!  there’s  ano  her  b<^at  in  about  five  hours,” 
said  Lefebvre;  “anc  doui  less,  mademoiselle,”  ad- 
dressing the  girl,  “w:nld  1 ke  to  rest  a moment.” 

The  girl  intimated  that  .he  was  dry  and  tired,  and 
so  the  pair  followed  Lefebvre. 

A table  was  brought  out  from  the  fruit  shop  into 
the  street,  chairs  were  placed  arouiid  it,  and  glasses 
and  some  bottles  of  good  sour  wine  were  placed 
upon  it. 

They  all  sat  down  and  drank  to  the  nation,  and 
Bonaparte  became  more  cheerful. 

“My  sister,  ladies  and  comrades,”  he  said,  intro- 
ducing the  young  girl. 

Yes,  the  young  woman  was  his  sister  Marie-Anne, 
better  known  as  Elisa,  who,  ere  many  years,  during 
her  brother’s  period  of  glory,  wedded  a prince,  and 
became  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany. 

She  was  ugly,  this  future  princess  and  grand 
duchess,  and  cross — by  no  means  a pleasing  person- 
age. Tall,  dark,  thin,  with  sallow  complexion, 
prominent  chin,  sensual  lips,  oval  head,  and  deep, 
piercing  eyes.  She  had  far  more  brains  than  beauty, 
and  her  manner  was  haughty  and  repellent. 

She  seemed  to  covertly  sneer  at  the  very  men  and 
women  whose  hospitality  she  and  her  brother  were 
accepting.  To  her  they  were  but  common  men  and 
women,  in  some  way  connected  with  a fruit  shop, 
while  she  was  a demoiselle  of  Saint-Oyr,  who  had 
been  educated  at  the  public  expense.  She  really 
thought  herself  descended  from  Jupiter. 

Elisa  Bonaparte  had  been  one  of  the  elect,  selected 


MADAME  SANS-OENB. 


91 


some  years  since  by  a lucky  chance,  to  be  a pupil  at 
the  Royal  School,  although  her  brother  Napoleon  had 
turned  out  a Democrat.  How  such  a chance  had 
happened  Napoleon  himself  never  fully  understood. 

But  his  sister  had  availed  herself  of  it  to  the  ut- 
most, and  even  Napoleon  had  thought  it  a capital 
piece  of  good  luck,  and  had  been  loath  to  take  Elisa 
away.  But  a national  decree  had  closed  the  school, 
and  he  was  compelled  to  take  his  sister  home. 

But  this  misfortune,  so  he  regarded  it,  had  been 
more  than  compensated  by  the  minister  of  war  having 
at  last  consented  to  see  him,  and  having  restored 
him  to  his  former  rank  in  the  French  army. 

Whereupon,  on  hearing  this,  all  the  company  con- 
gratulated him,  and  prophesied  his^future  success. 

‘^Ah!”  cried  Napoleon,  “if  I do  succeed,  my 
friends,  you  shall  share  my  harvest.”  He  meant 
what  he  said,  and  kept  his  promise  fully  afterward. 

Finally  it  came  time  to  part. 

“We  may  meet  again.  Captain  Bonaparte,”  said 
young  Hoche,  as  he  shook  hands  with  his  colleague. 

“On  the  road  to  glory,”  said  Lefebvre. 

“Yes,”  said  Bonaparte,  “but  to  get  there  I must 
first  get  the  boat  at  the  Sevres  bridge,”  and  he  started 
off  quickly  with  his  sister.  The  two  talked  on  the 
road. 

“How  do  you  like  the  captain?”  asked  Bonaparte. 

“Do  you  mean  Captain  Lefebvre?”  asked  his  sister. 

“No,  not  he,”  replied  Bonaparte,  “for  he’s  married 
to  that  pretty  Catherine.  No,  the  other  captain, 
Lazare  Hoche.” 

“Oh,  he’s  not  so  bad,”  said  the  young  lady. 

“Humph ! how  would  you  like  him  for  a husband?” 
said  her  brother. 

The  future  grand  duchess  blushed,  and  made  an 
impatient  gesture. 

Her  brother  interpreted  that  gesture  as  a sign  of 


92 


MADAME  8AMS-GEME. 


her  dislike  to  the  idea  he  had  suggested.  ‘^It’s  a 
pity,”  he  said,  “for  Hoche  is  a good  soldier  and  I 
think  he  is  one  of  the  men  with  a future.” 

“Oh,  I did  not  mean  that  Monsieur  Hoche  dis- 
pleases me,  but  I could  never  marry  any  man  who 
does  not  believe  in  a king,  who  is  not  devoted  to 
some  king.  Whereas  he  is  a Kepublican.” 

The  young  girl  talked  like  the  ardent  royalist  she 
was,  such  was  the  result  of  her  education  at  Saint- 
Cyr.  No  wonder  one  of  the  first  acts  of  the  Kepublic 
was  to  close  that  institution. 

This  talk  about  Hoche  illustrates  one  feature  of 
the  character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte — one  feature 
which  always  and  materially  influenced  his  career. 
He  was  ever  thinking  how  to  marry  his  sisters  advan^ 
tageously,  always  haunted  by  the  specter  of  his  family, 
ever  seeing  the  depressing  vision  of  his  mother,  sur- 
rounded by  her  children,  in  a cheerless  home,  with 
an  empty  cupboard,  and  a fireless  hearth.  He  felt 
the  responsibility  of  being  practically  the  head  of  a 
family  fully  as  deeply  as  he  did  being  the  head  of  a 
nation. 

He  considered  marriage  as  the  great  means  of  lift- 
ing his  family  from  obscurity  and  want,  ay,  and  of 
elevating  himself.  He  looked  upon  any  advantageous 
union  (advantageous  in  a worldly,  material  sense), 
however  unsuited  personally  might  be  the  parties,  as 
the  chief  refuge  against  poverty,  the  main  instrument 
of  fortune. 

As  for  himself  marriage  was  the  one  step  by  which 
he  could  at  once  rise  from  the  petty  rank  of  captain 
to — who  could  tell  what  height.  How  easily  he,  once 
well  married,  could  conquer  all  positions. 

And  yet  his  first  determined  effort  in  the  matri- 
monial line  for  himself  was  a fiasco,  a defeat. 

Allusion  has  already  been  made  to  his  friends,  the 
Permons,  with  whom,  in  his  days  of  poverty  in  Paris, 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


93 


he  dined  occasionally.  Madame  Permon  (mother  of . 
the  future  Duchess  of  Abrantes),  was  by  birth  a 
Greek,  who  had  lived  in  Corsica,  and  she  was  still  a 
handsome  woman. 

She  was  middle-aged  also,  but  she  dressed  to  look 
young,  and  she  believed  in  being  luxuriously  sur- 
rounded with  furniture  and  bric-a-brac  in  the  Louis 
XV.  style.  And  as  Bonaparte  in  his  youth  had  but 
scanty  opportunities  to  mingle  with  grand  dames  in 
their  palaces,  Madame  Permon  seemed  to  the  poor, 
obscure  young  Corsican,  a very  queen  of  elegance 
and  grace.  He  was  dazzled  with  her  wardrobe,  but  he 
did  not  see  her  wrinkles.  He  was  charmed  that  she 
was  plump;  he  did  not  reflect  that  soon  she  would 
be  gross.  The  Permons  were  well-to-do;  the  last 
consideration  settled  it. 

He  endeavored  to  interest  Madame  Permon  first 
in  his  plans  of  marrying  off  the  members  of  his  own 
family.  He  attempted  to  make  a match  between 
madame’s  young  son  and  his  sister  Pauline  (who  was 
the  beauty  of  the  Bonapartes) ; then  he  suggested  a 
union  between  Mademoiselle  Permon  (madame’s 
young  daughter),  and  his  brother  Louis,  or  his 
brother  Jerome.  It  really  did  not  matter  to  him,  just 
then,  which  brother. 

‘‘Eeally,”  said  madame  to  him  one  day,  laughing, 
Mon  cher  Napoleon,  you  are  a very  great  priest; 
you  wish  to  administer  the  sacrament  of  marriage  on 
a most  extensive  scale.  You  want  to  marry  all  the 
world,  even  the  children.” 

Bonaparte  affected  to  laugh  with  the  lady,  but  he 
rather  confusedly  confessed  that  he  was  anxious  to 
see  his  family  settled  for  life,  and  then,  with  his 
usual  abrupt,  direct  style  of  gallantry,  such  as  he 
had  adopted  with  Madame  Saus-G6ne,  he  seized  the 
astonished  Madame  Permon’s  beringed  hand,  and 
kissed  it,  once,  twice,  with  burning  lips. 


94 


MADAME  SAMS-GEWK 


And  having  kissed,  he  told  his  love,  or  rather  his 
desires  and  his  aspirations.  He  wanted  her  to  marry 
him,  and  thus  indeed  unite  their  respective  families. 

The  lady  in  her  surprise,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  do,  laughed  at  her  suitor. 

Bonaparte  was  hurt.  The  worst  treatment  a 
woman  can  give  her  suitor  is  to  laugh  at  his  suit. 

Madame,  as  soon  as  she  could  check  her  laughter, 
hastened  to  explain. 

She  assumed  a maternal  tone:  My  dear  Napoleon, 
she  said,  as  if  addressing  her  own  son,  “let  us  be 
serious.” 

“Madame,”  said  Napoleon,  with  empressernenty  “I 
never  was  more  serious  in  my  life — I ” 

“But,”  interrupted  the  lady,  “you  do  not  even 
know  my  age.” 

“What  man — what  gentleman,”  said  Bonaparte, 
“ever  can,  or  seeks  to,  know  a lady’s  age.  Some  one 
has  written,  you  know,  that  ‘women,  like  music, 
should  never  be  dated.’” 

“All  very  fine,”  said  madame,  smiling,  “but  for 
all  that  you  cannot  even  guess  how  old  lam;  I shall 
not  tell  you  my  exact  number  of  years — it  is  one  of 
my  little  foibles  to  hide  that  secret.  But  believe 
me,”  she  continued,  “I  am  old  enough  to  be  your 
mother,  or  for  that  matter,  your  elder  brother  Jo- 
seph’s mother.  So  let  us  have  no  more  of  this 
nonsense,  for  I must  confess,  that  coming  from  one 
whom  1 esteem  as  I do  you,  it  hurts  me.” 

“Ah,  madame,  I did  not  know  that  I was  talking 
‘nonsense,’  ” said  Napoleon;  “nor  did  I imagine  that 
in  asking  you  to  marry  me  I was  making  myself 
ridiculous.  As  for  me,  what  care  I for  the  age  of 
the  woman  I marry — I marry  the  woman,  not  her 
years.  And  besides,  without  any  flattery,  you  do 
not  seem  to  be  over  thirty.” 

Madame  Permon,  like  the  true  woman  she  was. 


MADAME  8AMS-GEME, 


95 


despite  Bonaparte’s  disclaimer,  did  feel  flattered,  and 
she  began  to  think  almost  tenderly  of  the  flatterer. 
But  she  forced  herself  to  say:  ‘‘Ah,  mon  clieVy  I am 
older,  much  older,  than  that.” 

“ Be  it  so — it  matters  not — I do  not  care,”  cried 
Bonaparte,  carried  away  by  the  ardor  he  really  at 
this  moment  felt.  “You  are  young,  you  are  charm- 
ing, unto  me.” 

Madame  smiled.  How  could  she,  or  any  other 
woman  in  her  place,  help  smiling! 

“And,”  continued  the  young  man  with  redoubled 
ardor,  glancing  fervently  at  the  old-young  lady,  “you 
are  the  woman  I have  dreamed  of  for  years,  as  my 
chosen  companion.” 

He  really  thought  at  that  moment  that  he  was 
speaking  the  truth. 

For  a moment  madame  wavered,  then  she  said: 
“And  if  I do  not  consent  to  the  folly  you  suggest, 
what  then  will  you  do?” 

“Seek  elsewhere  for  the  companionship  you  deny 
me,”  replied  Bonaparte  promptly.  “Marry,  and 
marry  soon,  I must,  I shall,”  he  added,  after  a 
pause.  “Some  of  my  friends  have  already  selected 
a wife  for  me,  a woman  almost  as  charming  as  your- 
self— a woman  about  your  own  age — of  noble  birth 
and  character.  I shall  be  forced  to  marry  her,  if 
you  be  cruel.  Eeflect,  madame,  reflect.” 

It  was  a curious  speech  for  a suitor  to  make  to  the 
woman  to  whom  he  was  proposing.  In  some  respects 
it  was  a dangerous  speech,  in  other  points  it  was 
about  the  wisest  he  could  have  uttered  under  the 
circumstances. 

But,  as  it  happened,  Madame  Pennon  was  not 
specially  impressed  by  Bonaparte’s  words  one  way  or 
the  other.  The  truth  was  that  she  really  loved  in 
secret  a cousin  of  hers,  who  was  a great  rascal — a 
Greek  by  the  name  of  Stephanopolis.  Worthless  as 


96 


MADAME  8ANS-QENE. 


the  fellow  was,  she  worshiped  him.  She  had  already 
introduced  him  to  Bonaparte,  and  was  doing  all  that 
lay  in  her  power  to  procure  him  a position  in  the 
Guard  of  the  Convention,  a military  organization 
then  forming. 

And  it  was  really  for  her  love  for  this  prosaic, 
everyday  fellow,  a man  of  neither  brains,  heart  or 
principle,  who  ultimately  died  of  cut  corn  in  his 
foot,  that  she  now  refused  the  offer  of  the  man  who 
afterward  became  the  master  of  the  world  of  Europe. 

On  what  threads  do  our  destinies  hang‘!  Had 
Madame  Permon  married  Bonaparte,  instead  of  re- 
fusing him,  Napoleon  would  probably  have  settled 
down  to  a life  of  comparative  ease  and  obscurity, 
and  never  would  have  become  general,  consul, 
emperor ! 

The  double  refusal  of  Madame  Permon  to  ally  her 
family  to  that  of  Bonaparte  and  to  marry  Napoleon 
herself,  was  destined  to  make  the  pupil  of  Saint-Cyr, 
Elisa  Bonaparte,  the  Princess  of  Piombino,  and  to 
make  the  future  General  Bonaparte  the  husband  of 
Josephine. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

THE  SIEGE  OF  VERDUK— ON  THE  MARCH— THE  FOR- 
SAKEN—THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  VOLUNTEERS. 

M.  HE  Lowendaal  had  made  the  utmost  haste 
to  shorten  the  distance  to  Verdun,  and  reaching  it 
had  gone  at  once  to  the  courthouse.  Two  great, 
interests,  one  pecuniary  and  one  personal,  had  com- 
bined to  carry  him  to  the  seat  of  war — to  a town 
which  might  be  taken  at  any  moment.  He  must 
collect  his  money,  and  cautiously,  for  opposite  Ver- 
dun was  his  tobacco  farm;  and  he  must  now,  on  the 
eve  of  his  marriage  with  Blanche  de  Laveline,  rid 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


97 


himself  of  the  tie  which  bound  him  to  another 
woman. 

This  other  woman  Avas  Mademoiselle  Herminie  de 
Beaurepaire,  of  good  family  (her  brother  was  even 
now  a general  in  the  French  army),  and  a girl  of 
strong  character  and  great  personal  attractions. 

She  had  designed  to  enter  a convent,  but  the  baron 
had  dazzled  her,  for  the  time  being,  with  his  wealth 
and  his  knowledge  of  the  world  (the  young  lady  had 
lived  all  her  life  in  the  country,  and  almost  in  soli- 
tude), and  she  had  forgotten  the  vows  of  celibacy. 
She  had  yielded  to  the  baron,  who  had  soon  wearied 
of  his  conquest,  especially  since  his  mistress  had  pre- 
sented him  with  a pledge  of  their  affection. 

His  money  and  his  mistress  pressed  their  heavy 
claims  upon  the  baron.  He  attended  to  the  money 
first. 

He  found  that  the  finances  of  Verdun  were  in 
such  a chaotic  state  that  he  could  collect  nothing. 
‘‘But,”  said  his  lawyer,  who  was  likewise  one  of  tho 
magistrates  of  the  town,  “there  is  one  chance.  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron,  for  you  to  get  your  money.” 

“Name  it,”  said  the  baron  quickly. 

“If  we  have  no  money  the  King  of  Austria  has,” 
answered  the  traitorous  magistrate;  “and  if  he  could 
get  possession  of  this  town ” 

He  did  not  finish  this  sentence,  but  the  baron 
understood  him.  It  was  treason  to  France,  but  the 
baron  was  a financier,  and  all  financiers  are  cosmo- 
politan. Money  has  no  country.  The  baron’s  pock- 
ets had  no  patriotism.  He  really  didn’t  care  a sou 
whether  his  money  came  from  France  or  Austria,  so 
he  got  it.  He  felt  no  indignation  whatever  when 
he  then  heard  a magistrate  suggest  to  him  the  be- 
trayal of  the  town  to  the  enemy.  AVas  it  possible? 
and  would  it  pay?  was  all  he  asked.  Having  an- 
swered these  questions  in  the  affirmative,  he  agreed. 


MADAME  8AMS-GEME. 


with  the  traitor  magistrate,  to  betray  the  town,  using 
his  factotum  Leonard  to  do  the  dirty  work.  This 
being  arranged,  the  two  conspirators  against  the 
people,  the  baron  and  the  magistrate,  separated,  one 
to  send  Leonard  to  spread  alarming  reports  among 
the  citizens,  the  other  to  cement  and  strengthen 
secret  adhesions  to  his  contemplated  treason. 


Meanwhile,  on  their  way  to  Verdun,  the  volun- 
teers  of  Mayenne-et-Loire,  were  happy.  They  were 
accompanied  by  a detachment  of  the  Thirteenth 
Light  Infantry,  in  which  regiment  Lefebvre  served 
as  lieutenant  with  captain’s  orders.  The  volunteers 
sang,  as  they  marched  to  the  music  of  the  Oarmag- 
aole,  some  innocent  and  lively  lay,  like  “ La  Gamelle.” 

‘ ‘ My  friends,  say  can  you  tell  me, 

Why  blithe  and  gay  are  we  ? 

Because  the  meal  tastes  best 
When  eaten  with  a jest. 

We  mess  together  always, 

Long  live  the  sound! 

We  mess  together  always. 

Long  live  the  cauldron’s  sound!  ” 

The  refrain  was  carried  along  the  entire  line  and 
then  the  rear-guard  answered  with  the  words: 

‘‘  There’s  naught  of  pride  or  coldness  here, 

’Tis  only  friendship  makes  high  cheer. 

Yes,  without  fraternity. 

There  never  can  be  gayety. 

Let  us  mess  together,  lads. 

Long  live  the  sound! 

Let  us  mess  together,  lads. 

Long  live  the  cauldron’s  sound!  ” 

But  General  Beaurepaire  was  alert  and  watchful. 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE, 


99 


The  Prussians  were  not  far  away — there  might  be 
ambuscades. 

Time  wore  on  and  the  volunteers  began  to  prepare 
for  their  meal;  they  lit  fires  and  cooked  soup;  it  was 
a blithely  busy  period.  Some  went  for  wood,  others 
brought  water  from  a spring  that  gurgled  near,  some 
stole  peas  from  the  fields,  while  others  again  cooked 
them,  and  they  all  sang  in  chorus: 

‘‘Ah!  Many  a crowned  head,  to-day, 

Is  dying,  famished  far  away, 

And  envies  the  way 
Of  the  soldier  gay 
Who  dines  at  our  mess  to-day. 

Long  live  the  cauldron’s  sound!  ” 

A wagon  was  drawn  up  near  the  cauldron  and  the 
cooks.  The  old  gray  horse  belonging  to  it  was  un- 
harnessed and  browsed  at  his  ease.  On  the  wagon 
was  inscribed : 

13  Light. 

Mme.  Catherine  Lefebvre, 

Cantiniere. 

Near  the  wagon  and  horse  a child  was  playing, 
rolling  about  on  the  grass.  Every  now  and  then  the 
boy  would  rush  to  Catherine,  who  would  kiss  him, 
or  pat  him,  and  then  attend  to  business. 

The  troopers  wanted  her  to  open  the  canteen. 
She  did  so. 

The  preparations  were  simple  but  sufficient. 

Assisted  by  a soldier,  she  arranged  a long  plank  on 
two  trestles  as  a table,  and  then  she  quickly,  neatly 
placed  upon  it  jugs,  pitchers  and  a little  keg. 

Shop  was  opened,  business  was  ready,  the  canteen 
was  mounted;  there  were  plenty  of  customers.  The 
soldiers  crowded  around  eagerly — they  were  all  as 
merry  as  they  were  thirsty.  The  long  dusty  march 


100 


MADAME  8AN8-0ENE. 


and  the  jolly  songs  had  made  them  alike  dry  and 
gay. 

Glasses  were  filled  and  they  drank  to  the  success 
of  the  battalion  of  Mayenne-et-Loire,  to  the  triumph 
of  liberty,  to  the  deliverance  of  Verdnn. 

Among  the  crowd  of  soldiers  were  Marcel  and 
Eenee,  devoted  to  each  other,  yet  guarding  their 
mutual  secret.  It  was  hard  to  have  to  thus  restrain 
their  ardor.  But  they  contrived  to  do  so,  and  were 
not  suspected. 

General  Beaurepaire  mingled  with  his  soldiers. 
Meeting  Lefebvre  and  Catherine,  near  the  canteen, 
the  conversation  became  animated.  Finally  Bona- 
parte’s name  was  casually  mentioned  by  Lefebvre. 
Beaurepaire  had  met,  and  taken  a liking  to  Bona- 
parte, and  now  asked  after  him,  and  Lefebvre  and 
Catherine  together  gave  their  commander  the  latest 
particulars  concerning  their  mutual  friend,  and  then 
Marcel  joined  the  group  with  still  more  recent  news 
of  the  man  they  talked  about. 

‘‘It  is  true,”  said  Marcel,  “that  Captain  Bonaparte 
is  well  and  safe  now  with  his  family  at  Marseilles, 
but  he  has  been  in  the  greatest  danger.” 

“Ah,  tell  me  all  about  it,”  said  the  general. 

“Pardon  me,  commander,”  suggested  Lefebvre, 
“but  we  would  all  listen  to  Marcel’s  story  with  more 
gusto  if  we  were  all  seated  comfortably  and  were 
drinking  something.  My  wife  will  serve  it  to  us.” 

“A  good  idea,  Lefebvre,”  said  Beaurepaire.  They 
all  sat  down  by  the  canteen. 

“A  toast,  my  comrades!”  cried  Beaurepaire,  when 
the  glasses  were  filled.  “Here’s  to  the  health  of 
Madame  Lefebvre,  the  pretty  cantiniere  of  the  Thir- 
teenth.” 

They  clicked  glasses.  Catherine  smiled.  Then 
Lefebvre  said  to  her  with  a wink:  “Come,  listen  to 
Marcel  here;  he  is  going  to  tell  us  something  more 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE, 


iOl 


new  and  interesting  about  your  great  friend  Captain 
Bonaparte.’- 

‘^Are  you  getting  jealous  of  Captain  Bonaparte 
again?”  laughed  Catherine.  ‘‘It  is  rather  late  in 
the  day  for  that.  But  has  anything  dreadful  really 
happened  to  him?”  she  asked,  turning  to  Marcel. 

“He  has  escaped  death  by  a miracle,”  was  the 
reply. 

“Is  it  possible!”  exclaimed  Catherine.  “Oh,  tell 
us  all  about  it,  with  our  commander’s  permission.” 

The  ex-laundress  sat  her  ample  person  on  the 
trunk  of  a tree,  all  attention,  pricking  her  ears,  and 
with  parted  lips  waiting  for  the  very  latest  particu- 
lars of  news  concerning  her  former  customer. 

According  to  Marcel’s  account,  the  Corsicans,  hos- 
tile to  revolution,  had  attempted  to  yield  their  island 
and  themselves  to  the  English.  Paoli  himself,  the 
former  patriot,  had  negotiated  with  the  British  gov- 
ernment, and  had  endeavored  to  enlist  Bonaparte  on 
his  side.  But  Bonaparte  had  indignantly  refused, 
whereupon  Paoli  openly  endeavored  to  destroy  him. 

His  family — mother,  brethren  and  sisters — had  been 
compelled  to  flee;  their  house  had  been  burned  down 
in  the  night. 

Napoleon’s  mother,  in  person,  led  the  fugitive 
band. 

They  avoided  the  highroads,  they  sought  thickets, 
they  traveled  by  night,  they  endured  all  manner  ot 
hardships.  Their  clothes  were  torn  by  stones  and 
brambles;  they  could  not  sleep — they  were  desolate, 
desperate,  despairing.  Suddenly  they  saw  Napoleon— 
he  had  come  for  them  in  a French  ship.  It  was 
waiting  for  them  in  the  harbor.  Wearied  as  they 
were,  this  joyful  intelligence  gave  them  strength  to 
run  toward  the  vessel,  when  suddenly  a troop  of  their 
pursuers  saw  them  and  fired,  aiming  chiefly  at  Na- 
poleon, who  now  led  the  band. 


102 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


Several  shots  almost  touched  him,  but  he  heeded 
not.  The  Bonaparte  family  reached  the  ship  unin- 
jured; but  as  soon  as  his  family  were  all  aboard, 
Bonaparte  turned  the  only  gun  the  vessel  possessed 
against  his  enemies,  and  in  one  volley  killed  ten  of 
them  on  the  spot. 

Whereupon  the  rest  fled,  and  Napoleon  and  his 
family  were  saved. 

^ Brave  Bonaparte !”  cried  Catherine,  clapping  her 
hands.  ‘‘Those  dastardly  Corsicans.  Oh,  if  only,’^ 
she  added,  “our  men  of  the  Thirteenth  had  been 
there  with  you,  Lefebvre.” 

“No,  Bonaparte  was  enough,”  said  Lefebvre;  “he’s 
a fine  cannoneer.” 

“And,”  cried  Beaurepaire,  “a  true  Frenchman; 
“but  he  was  not  born  to  die  on  a little  island  like 
Corsica,  this  Bonaparte.  It  would  have  been  too 
absurd;  his  destiny’s  too  great  for  that.  Thanks 
for  your  story,”  he  said  to  Marcel,  rising;  “I  shall 
write  to  Bonaparte  and  congratulate  him  when  we 
have  taken  Verdun.”  He  gave  the  order  to  resume 
the  march. 

The  men  having  eaten  their  soup  and  drank  their 
wine,  now  cleaned  their  muskets  and  formed  again  in 
column. 

Beaurepaire  made  a sign  to  Catherine;  he  gave 
her  some  instructions  which  were  peculiar  and  in- 
volved some  danger. 

“You  will  oblige  me,”  he  said,  “but  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  refuse  the  task  if  you  do  not  care  to  under- 
take it.” 

“I  do  not  refuse,  commander,”  replied  Catherine; 
“I  will  put  on  my  citizen  dress,  and  I hope  you  will 
be  satisfied  with  me.” 

“I  know  I shall  be,”  said  the  commander. 

Lefebvre  wondered  what  on  earth  his  commander 
was  talking  secretly  to  his  wife  about,  but  she  did 


MADAME  SAMi^GENB, 


103 


not  enlighten  him.  ‘‘Frangois,”  she  said,  ‘‘I  shall 
see  you  at  Verdun,  by  the  commander’s  orders. 
Take  care  of  the  horse — see  that  La  Violette,”  such 
was  the  jjoetic  name  of  the  prosaic  young  soldier  who 
was  detailed  to  take  care  of  the  canteen,  ‘‘holds  on 
to  him  by  the  bridle,  going  down  hill.” 

“All  right,”  said  Lefebvre.  He  was  satisfied  that 
there  was  no  use  in  asking  his  wife  to  tell  him  what 
she  was  about,  so  he  plied  her  with  no  idle  questions, 
only  he  warned  her  to  be  prudent,  and  reminded  her 
of  the  possibility  that  she  might  be  taken  prisoner 
by  the  Prussians. 

“You  wretch!  you  prophet  of  evil!”  she  cried 
gayly,  “have  you  forgotten  that  I have  my  watch- 
dogs under  my  blouse.” 

She  alluded  to  the  two  pistols  which  she  always 
carried  under  her  skirt,  in  the  belt  where  she  carried 
her  money. 

Kissing  her  husband  she  departed  toward  Verdun, 
and  as  she  trudged  along  she  heard  the  song  of  the 
volunteers: 

“Ah!  ga  ira!  ga  ira!  ga  ira! 

Little  and  big  we,  all  soldiers  at  heart! 

Ah!  ga  ira!  ga  ira!  ga  ira! 

And  during  the  battle  let  no  one  betray — 

Ah!  ga  ira!  ga  ira!  gairal” 

And  the  echo  of  the  valley  repeated,  “Qa  ira!  9a 
ira!”  responding  to  the  martial  note  of  the  brave 
soldiers  going  forth  to  conquer  for  their  country,  and 
singing  under  the  sacred  standard  of  Liberty. 


Herminie  de  Beaurepaire  lived  in  a wing  of  the 
great  house  of  Bl^court  at  Verdun,  which  had  been 
transformed  into  an  oratory,  under  the  direction  of 
her  bigot  of  an  aunt,  Madame  de  Bl^court. 

Two  crucifixes  and  a small  altar,  on  which  stood 


104 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE, 


images  of  the  Virgin  holding  the  infant  Jesns  in  robes 
of  bine  and  gold;  candelabra  and  vases  of  flowers, 
decorated  and  marked  the  room,  which  after  the  sup- 
pression of  the  religions  houses  had  been  turned  into 
a temporary  chapel. 

Mademoiselle  was  praying  in  the  chamber,  when 
suddenly,  unannounced,  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  ap- 
peared upon  the  threshold.  The  girl  gave  a cry  of 
surprise,  arose,  advanced  toward  him,  then  paused, 
waiting  for  some  sign  from  him — some  sign  from  his 
heart. 

But  the  baron  stood  cold  and  silent;  he  had  no 
heart. 

"Ah,  monsieur,  you  have  come  at  last,”  cried  the 
girl. 

"Yes,”  he  said  grufldy;  "and  how  is  the — the 
child?” 

"Your  daughter,”  said  the  girl;  "she  is  growing; 
she  is  nearly  three  years  old.  Oh,  would  to  God  she 
never  had  been  born — ” Here  her  tears  checked  her 
utterance. 

This  annoyed  the  baron — women’s  tears  annoy 
most  men.  "Do  not  cry,”  he  said,  "your  weeping 
may  attract  attention;  all  the  house  already  doubt- 
less is  talking  of  my  coming.  Do  not  let  them  know 
what  it  is  our  interest  to  hide,”  and  then  he  rushed 
in  medias  res.  Without  further  preface  he  told  the 
girl  what  he  had  come  to  tell  her — that  he  no  longer 
loved  her,  that  he  wanted  to  be  rid  of  her. 

Even  the  toughest  of  men  find  this  sort  of  com- 
munication troublesome,  and  the  baron  made  a botch 
of  it;  but  his  task  was  greatly  simplified  by^  the  girl 
herself.  She  was  pi'oud  despite  her  position,  and 
she  had  ceased  to  love  him,  as  he  had  ceased  to  love 
her,  but  with  far  more  reason. 

She  had  awakened  from  her  dream,  had  discovered 
his  real  character,  and  despised  him. 


MADAME  8AN8-aENE. 


105 


‘‘The  past  is  dead  within  me,”  she  said  to  him 
bitterly.  “In  looking  over  my  life  now  I find  only 
cinders  and  ruin,  but  I have  a child — your  daughter 
Alice — for  her  I must  live,  for  her  I must  keep  up 
appearances.” 

“Quite  right,”  approved  the  baron;  “we  must 
preserve  appearances,  even  if  we  cannot  preserve  our 
love.  It  was  an  intoxication,”  he  added,  “but  we 
are  sober  now;  one  cannot  always  be  mad  or 
drunk.” 

“I  am  sobered  now  truly,”  said  the  girl;  “I  love 
you  no  longer,  but  for  our  child’s  sake  I demand 
that  you  fulfill  your  promise.  You  must  make  me 
your  wife  even  though  you  leave  me  at  the  altar. 
Have  you  come  to  marry  me,  monsieur?” 

“The  devil!  now  it’s  out,”  thought  the  baron. 
“Your  question  staggers  me,”  he  replied  aloud; 
“your  demand  embarrasses  me.  I remember  that  in 
a moment  of  delirium  I promised  you  what  it  would 
be  madness  now  to  fulfill;  but  I pray  you  to  remem- 
ber also,  that  I shall  ever  hold  you  in  the  most 
respectful  esteem.” 

“So  you  refuse,”  said  she. 

“No,  I merely  ask  for  more  time,”  said  he. 

“ You  have  had  three  years  and  more,”  she  insisted. 

“ Give  me  then  a few  months  longer,”  he  suggested. 
“But  really,”  he  continued,  “to  tell  the  truth,  I 
came  to  Verdun  chiefly  on  matters  of  business — my 
head  is  full  of  pecuniary  details — it  is  a poor  time  to 
talk  of  marriage.  Wait  till  peace  is  declared,  till  I 
can  settle  my  affairs;  it  will  not  be  long  before  things 
will  be  quieted  down.” 

“Ah,  indeed,”  cried  Herminie  de  Beaurepaire; 
“you  think  that  the  defense  of  Verdun  is  impossible. 
You  calonlate  that  artisans,  villagers,  blacksmiths, 
shoemakers-*^in  short,  the  people,  will  not  be  able  to 
successfully  resist  a king  and  an  emperor.  You  insult 


106. 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


brave  men  who  fight  like  heroes  to  rid  themselves  of 
tyrants  and  imbeciles.” 

‘‘I  insult' no  one,”  answered  the  baron  smoothly;  ' 
^‘but  I certainly  consider  that  this  town  has  no 
garrison.” 

‘‘Ah!  but  it  will  have  one  very  soon,”  she  mur- 
mured. 

“What’s  that  you  said?”  asked  the  baron,  aston- 
ished. 

“Look  and  listen  for  yourself,”  cried  the  young 
girl. 

A confused  noise  was  heard,  cheers,  cries,  shouts, 
the  beating  of  drums,  the  tramping  of  feet. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  grew  pale. 

“ What  is  this  tumult?”  he  asked.  “ Some  new  up- 
rising? The  inhabitants  of  this  town,  not  being 
fools,  insist,  I presume,  on  having  the  gates  opened; 
they  will  not  endure  the  horrors  of  a siege,  n'^est  ce 
pas  P’ 

“Not  so,  Monsieur  Baron;  the  noise  you  hear,  the 
confusion  you  see,  springs  from  an  entirely  opposite 
cause,  as  you  will  be  made  to  understand  shortly,” 
said  the  lady.  “But  let  me  ask  yon,  and  for  the  last 
time,  will  you  keep  your  promise?  Will  you  give  my 
child,  your  child,  our  child,  our  daughter  Alice,  the 
fortune,  the  name,  the  rank,  which  are  her  due?” 

“I  have  already  told  you,  madame,”  replied  the 
man  impatiently,  yet  almost  timidly,  “that  just  now 
I will  not,  because  I cannot.  Listen  to  me,  and  be 
reasonable.” 

(He  asked  a woman  to  be  “reasonable!”)  “I  am 
here  to  attend  to  important  business  matters”  (the 
woman  made  an  indignant  gesture).  “The  devil!” 
said  the  man,  losing  his  temper,  “you  must  wait  till 
peace  is  established  and  the  rebels  are  punished. 
When  his  majesty  returns,  not  to  the  Tuileries, 
which  could  easily  be  captured  by  the  mob,  but  to 


MADAME  SANS-^QENB. 


107 


Versailles,  then,  my  dear  madame,  I will  consider— 
I will  decide.” 

‘‘Take  care,  monsieur!”  cried  the  woman,  “I  am 
one  who  will  avenge  myself  on  the  man  who  trifles 
with  me  and  plays  me  false.” 

“Threats,”  sneered  the  baron;  “well,  I like  it 
better  so.  A woman’s  threats  are  less  dangerous 
than  her  tears.” 

“I  repeat  once  more,  monsieur,  take  care.  I am 
not  so  weak,  so  lonely,  so  uninfluential,  as  you  seem 
to  think.” 

“And  I tell  you  once  again,  madame,  that  I am 
not  so  easily  frightened  as  you  seem  to  imagine.” 

“Do  you  not  hear  that  noise,  monsieur?  It  is 
coming  this  way.” 

“Yes,  I hear  it,  madame;  can  the  Prussians  have 
taken  the  town  already?” 

“They  are  not  Prussians,  monsieur;  they  are 
patriots.” 

“The  devil!”  ejaculated  the  baron;  “French  re- 
inforcements! Can  it  be?  Lafayette  is  with  the 
Austrians,  Dumouriez  is  in  camp,  Dillon  is  bought 
by  the  allies.  Whence  then  these  reinforcements?” 

“Your  very  natural  anxiety  shall  be  gratified,”  said 
the  lady  with  a meaning  look.  And  advancing  to 
the  door  of  the  oratory,  or  temporary  chapel,  she 
admitted  a plump,  pretty  woman,  who,  accompanied 
by  two  little  children,  had  been  in  waiting  for  some 
time,  “Come  in,  madame,”  cried  Mdlle.  Ilerminie, 
“and  let  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  know  whose  hands 
beat  the  drums  that  have  awakened  this  town.” 

The  plump,  pretty  young  woman  entered  the  ora- 
tory and  gave  a military  salute.  And  tlien  address- 
ing the  baron,  looking  him  full  in  the  face,  she  said : 
“I  am  Catherine  Lefebvre,  canteen-bearer  to  the 
Thirteenth  Infantry,  at  your  service.  You  want  to 
know  the  news?  It  is  the  battalion  of  Mayeime-et- 


108 


MADAME  SAJSfS-GENE, 


Loire,  which  is  making  its  entry  into  Verdun,  ac- 
eompanied  by  a company  of  the  Thirteenth,  under 
the  command  of  Captain  Frangois  Lefebvre,  my  hus- 
band. Ah,  monsieur,  mademoiselle,  it  will  be  a fine 
surprise  for  the  world.” 

^^Yes,”  said  Mademoiselle  Herminie,  and  looking 
at  the  baron  she  continued:  ‘‘These  troops  are  under 
the  command  of  General  Beaurepaire,  my  brother.” 

“Your  brother!”  echoed  the  baron,  now  seriously 
alarmed. 

“Yes,  monsieur,  my  brave  brother,  who,  prior  to 
his  entry  here,  sent  this  brave  woman  to  let  me  know 
privately,  and  to  reassure  me.” 

The  baron  looked  as  he  felt,  astounded,  and  not  in 
the  least  cheerful. 

Madame  Sans-Gene  went  up  to  him,  and  patted 
him  on  the  shoulder,  as  though  she  had  known  him 
all  his  life — as  though  he  were  not  a rich  man  and  a 
baron.  “ One  would  almost  be  tempted  to  imagine, 
my  little  man,”  she  said,  “ that  this  news  disconcerted 
you.  Oh,  you  cannot  be  a patriot,  so  be  careful. 
As  for  the  aristocrats  who  talked  of  surrendering  the 
town  to  the  Germans,  they  had  better  keep  out  of 
the  way  of  the  soldiers;  there  are  five  hundred  of  us.” 

“Only  five  hundred,”  thought  the  baron,  and  he 
grew  calmer.  “There  are  too  few  of  them  to  do 
much  harm.  The  worst  feature  is  the  presence  of 
this  Beaurepaire;  we  must  get  rid  of  him.” 

Meantime  Mademoiselle  Herminie  had  brought  in 
one  of  the  two  little  children — a blonde  girl  with  thin 
legs,  who  tottered  and  trembled.  Leading  this  child 
to  the  baron  she  said:  “She  is  your  daughter,  mon- 
sieur; will  you  not  kiss  her?” 

Lowendaal  scowled,  then  turning,  like  one  who  is 
expected  to  do  something  disagreeable,  he  kissed  the 
child  coldly  on  the  forehead,  as  one  would  kiss  a 
corpse.  It  was  the  corpse  of  love. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


109 


■ The  child  was  afraid  and  began  to  cry — no  wonder. 

Suddenly  a little  handsome  lad,  wearing  a liberty 
cap  and  a cockade,  rushed  in  and  put  his  arms  around 
the  weeping  girl,  who  began  to  smile. 

Don’t  cry,”  said  the  boy,  ‘‘let’s  go  and  play^ 
Alice.  Let’s  make  believe  we  are  shooting  the  Prus- 
sians. It  is  such  fun.” 

Catherine  Lefebvre  looked  and  listened  proudly  to 
the  boy.  “That’s  my  little  Henriot,”  she  told  the 
baron  conlidentially ; “he  will  be  a sergeant  some 
day.  I am  bringing  him  up  as  a defender  of  the 
Eepublic — till  I have  one  of  my  own.” 

“ Your  brother,”  said  the  baron  abruptly,  turning 
to  Mdlle.  Herminie,  “does  he  know?” 

“All,”  replied  the  lady.  “It  was  a terrible  con- 
fession for  a sister  to  make,  but  I made  it,  and  he 
forgave  me.  He  has  hastened,  as  you  see,  to  protect 
me.” 

The  roll  of  the  drums  sounded  louder,  and  came 
nearer.  The  town  seemed  as  full  of  noise  as  joy. 
The  banks  of  the  Meuse  were  lively  with  song  and 
greeting. 

“I  must  go  to  the  courthouse,”  said  the  baron,, 
eager  to  terminate  the  interview  with  the  woman  he 
had  loved  and  left. 

“And  I must  go  and  meet  my  husband,”  said 
Catherine.  “Come,  march,  you  young  recruit!”  she 
cried  to  little  Henriot. 

The  lad  resisted  slightly;  he  seized  the  little  girl’s 
skirts  and  clung  to  them,  as  if  loath  to  let  her  go. 

“See  the  young  dandy,”  said  Catherine  with  a 
laugh.  “He  already  attaches  himself  to  the  ladies — 
a promising  boy.  But  come  on,  young  man,”  she 
cried,  pulling  him  along.  “Let  us  thrash  the  Prus- 
sians first,  and  then  you  shall  see  your  girl  again.” 

“Madame,”  said  mademoiselle,  much  moved,  tak- 
ing Catherine’s  hand,  “I  shall  never  forget  you  and 


110 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


your  kindness;  thank  my  brother  for  sending  yon  to 
me.  As  for  my  daughter  here,  who  smiles  upon 
your  little  Henriot,  as  if  she  wanted  him  to  stay, 
promise  me  that  if  aught  befalls  me,  you  will,  should 
opportunity  offer,  guard  my  child.” 

‘‘Count  on  me,”  said  our  Catherine,  in  a tone  and 
with  a look  that  showed  she  could  be  counted  on. 
“If  I had  another  child  to  look  after  I could  afford 
to  wait  still  longer  for  my  own,”  she  added,  laughing. 
“But  really,  mademoiselle,  it  must  be  au  revoir  now 
indeed;  my  husband  will  be  waiting  for  me.”  And 
with  a kiss  and  embrace  the  women  parted ; Cather- 
ine, ere  she  vanished,  making  a moue  at  the  baron. 

As  for  Lowendaal,  he  walked  in  a rage  toward  the 
courthouse.  “That  Beaurepaire,”  he  said  to  him- 
self, “may  force  me  to  marry  his  sister.  Ah!  into 
what  a wasp’s  nest  I have  flung  myself,”  and  utterly 
dissatisfied  with  the  turn  of  affairs,  the  baron  went 
to  the  courthouse  to  meet  the  notabilities  there 
assembled,  among  whom  were  several  traitors  whose 
names  should  be  pilloried  by  posterity. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BRUN'SWICK’S  messen^ger — beaurepaire’s  oath — 

LEOKARD’S  MISSION’— the  EMIGRANT’S  CAMP. 

In  the  great  hall  of  the  courthouse  of  Verdun,  by 
the  light  of  torches,  were  assembled  the  members  of 
the  districts  and  the  great  men  of  the  place. 

The  Duke  of  Brunswick  had  encamped  before  the 
gates  of  the  city.  Should  those  gates  be  opened  to 
him?  or  should  they  be  kept  closed,  and  the  town 
stand  a siege?  Such  was  the  weighty  matter  await- 
ing instant  decision. 

“Messieurs,”  said  Attorney -general  Gossin,  “my 
heart  bleeds  at  the  bare  idea  of  the  horrors  which 


MADAME  SAMS-GENE. 


Ill 


would  result  to  Verdun  from  a siege.  Eesistance  by 
weakness  (such  as  ours  at  this  moment)  to  strength 
(such  as  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  can  command)  is 
madness.  AVill  you  not  receive,  in  a friendly  spirit, 
a gentleman  who  comes  here  with  a conciliatory 
message — a messenger  from  the  Duke  of  Brunswick?” 

President  Ternaux  looked  around  the  assembly, 
evidently  seeking  its  sanction. 

Yes,  we  will,”  was  the  response. 

The  messenger  from  the  duke  was  then  admitted. 
He  was  a young  man  in  citizen’s  dress,  pale,  and  car- 
rying his  arm  in  a sling. 

He  was  introduced  by  the  president  to  the  assem- 
bly, with  these  words: 

“This  is  Monsieur  the  Count  de  Neipperg,  aid- 
de-camp  of  General  Clerfayt,  general-in-chief  of  the 
Austrian  army,  and  representative  of  his  grace  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick. 

Yes,  Brunswick’s  messenger  on  this  occasion  was 
the  young  Austrian  whose  life  Catherine  Sans  G^ne 
had  saved  in  Paris.  Kecovering  under  Catherine’s 
care,  he  had  sought  active  service  to  distract  his 
thoughts. 

He  now  politely  but  firmly,  and  speaking  excellent 
French,  made  known  the  conditions  of  the  Austrians. 
The  town  must  be  surrendered  within  twenty-four 
hours,  or  Verdun  would  be  bombarded,  and  when 
taken  there  would  be  “no  quarter.” 

Absolute  silence  followed  the  statement  of  these 
terms. 

Nine-tenths  of  the  assembly,  whose  members  were 
mostly  mercantile,  had  at  once  resolved  to  surrender 
the  town,  but  no  man  wished  to  be  the  first  to  say  so. 

Neipperg,  looking  about  him,  understood  the  posi- 
tion of  affairs,  and  despised  the  men  around  him  for 
their  cowardice. 

Within  himself  he  thought:  “Surely  these  are  not 


112 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


kin  to  the  Frenchmen  with  whom  I fonght  in  Paris.” 
Like  the  true  soldier  he  was,  he  regarded  far  more 
respectfully  the  brave  Frenchmen  who  had  wounded, 
and  nearly  killed  him,  than  these  craven  cowards 
who  trembled  and  kept  still. 

Finally  Neipperg  broke  the  silence  he  himself  had 
caused.  ‘‘You  have  heard,  messieurs,  the  terms  of 
the  general  of  the  Austrian  army.  What  answer 
shall  I take  to  the  Duke  of  Brunswick?” 

“Shall  we  force  the  duke  to  fire  on  this  defenseless 
town?”  cried  the  Baron  Lowendaal. 

Neipperg  at  once  recognized  the  face  and  voice  of 
his  rival  in  love.  His  brow  flushed,  he  advanced  a 
step,  he  would  fain  then  and  there  have  addressed, 
insulted,  and  perhaps,  weak  as  he  was,  assaulted  his 
rival.  “ But,”  he  reflected,  “ I am  here  as  an  ambassa- 
dor; I must  restrain  myself,”  and  he  did  so  elfectually, 

“But,”  thought  he  likewise,  “if  the  baron  is  here, 
may  not  Blanche  be  here  also?  I must  wait  and 
watch.” 

The  baron  repeated  his  question.  “No,”  replied 
the  assembly,  “there  shall  be  no  bombardment.  We 
agree  to  the  duke’s  terms.” 

At  this  moment  a fusilade  sounded,  drums  were 
beaten,  and  under  the  very  windows  of  the  court- 
house were  heard  voices  singing  the  “9a  ira.” 

Every  one  rose  in  wild  bewilderment. 

Some,  calmer  than  the  rest,  looked  out  of  the  court- 
room windows.  They  saw  the  town  lighted,  as 
though  for  a fete. 

Torches  burned  in  the  market-place,  and  round 
the  red  light  women  and  children  danced  fantastic- 
ally. 

It  was  the  volunteers  of  Mayenne-et-Loire,  who 
had  caused  this  tumult,  this  uprising  of  the  town. 

The  Baron  de  Lowendaal  disappeared.  Neipperg 
would  fain  have  followed  him,  but  his  duty  prevented. 


MADAME  SANS-GEMh. 


113 


And  now  General  Beaurepaire,  accompanied  by 
Lefebvre,  and  surrounded  by  the  volunteers  and  the 
soldiers  of  the  Thirteenth,  burst  into  the  court- 
room. 

The  president  of  the  assembly  protested  against 
thi§  intrusion,  but  Beaurepaire  spoke : It  is  reported 
that  you  are  all  plotting  treason  here,  and  talk  of 
surrendering  this  city.  Is  it  so?” 

The  president,  feeling  that  he  was  supported  by 
the  sentiment  of  the  assembly  answered  in  return: 
“Go  back  with  your  men,  General  Beaurepaire,  and 
stop  this  tumult.  You  have  acted  without  authority 
from  the  council  of  defense.” 

“Messieurs,”  cried  Beaurepaire,  “I  never  wait  for 
orders  to  fire  on  the  enemy.  I have  therefore  fired  on 
the  Prussians  and  barricaded  the  gates,  without  even 
thinking  of  the  council  of  defense.” 

“You  are  in  the  wrong,  general,”  said  Bellamond, 
the  director  of  artillery  for  Verdun. 

“Comrade,”  replied  the  general,  “that  is  my  affair, 
for  which  I will  answer  to  the  people.  So  much  for 
the  present  situation;  as  for  the  future  act  with  me, 
and  together  we  yet  can  repulse  the  enemy  and  «ave 
the  town.” 

“lie  is  a brave  man,”  thought  Neipperg,  looking 
at  Beaurepaire.  “He  atones  for  the  others,”  and  he 
addressed  himself  to  Beaurepaire,  delivering  to  him 
the  message  from  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  of  Avhich 
the  French  general  made  short  work.  “Your  prop- 
osition is  declined,”  he  said;  “permit  me  to  conduct 
you  personally  to  our  outposts,  and  to  send  you  back 
to  those  who  sent  you.” 

“I  am  at  your  command,  general,”  said  the  Count 
do  Neipperg. 

“ Messieurs,”  cried  Beaurepaire,  addressing  in  his 
loudest,  firmest  tones,  the  agitated  assembly,  “I 
have  sworn  to  defend  Verdun  to  the  death,  and  I 


114 


MADAME  SAJSrS-GEEE, 


will  keep  my  vow.”  Then  he  left  the  court-room, 
followed  by  Neipperg. 

Lowendaal  at  this  moment  returned  to  the  court- 
room, and  when  told  of  Beaurepaire’s  oath,  ridiculed 
it,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  at  least  the  man  who 
took  the  oath  might  die. 

“But  let  him  not  interfere  with  the  purpose  of 
this  assembly,”  continued  the  baron.  “Let  us  sur- 
render the  town  rather  than  endure  the  fruitless 
horrors  of  a siege.  Was  it  not  so  agreed?” 

“It  was,  it  is,”  answered  the  president;  “but,” 
looking  around  and  not  seeing  De  Neipperg,  “the 
duke’s  messenger  has  gone.  XVhat  shall  we  do?  he 
may  not  return,  and  yet  he  has  the  papers.” 

“Let  us  send  some  trusty  messenger  to  the  Aus- 
trian camp,  carrying  your  duplicate,  with  the  official 
assurance  that  to-morrow  the  town  gates  shall  be 
opened  to  the  Austrians,”  suggested  the  baron. 

“ The  very  thing,”  said  the  president  eagerly;  “but 
whom  can  we  entrust  with  our  message?” 

“Trust  it  with  me,”  said  the  baron. 

“With  you!  ah,  you  will  save  us!”  cried  the  presi- 
dent with  joy.  And  he  embraced  the  baron  as  though 
the  latter,  instead  of  being  a pusillanimous,  merce- 
nary traitor,  was  a herald  announcing  a patriotic 
triumph. 

Some  moments  later  the  baron,  with  the  duplicate 
letter  of  capitulation,  left  the  courthouse  and  joined 
his  factotum  Leonard,  who  was  in  waiting. 

The  baron,  in  a low  voice,  gave  Leonard  some 
instructions. 

Leonard,  submissive  as  he  was,  yet  on  this  occasion 
seemed  loath  to  obey  the  instructions  given  him. 
Whereupon  the  baron  reminded  him  that  he— the 
baron — could  send  him — Leonard — to  the  galleys. 

It  was  even  so.  Years  ago  the  baron  had  caught 
Leonard  in  the  act  of  committing  forgery — a crime 


MADAME  8ANS-GEME. 


115 


then  punishable  with  galley-slavery  at  Toulon — and 
though  he  had  shielded  him,  for  his  own  purposes, 
he  could  at  any  moment  make  the  charge  against 
him,  and  secure  his  punishment.  This  reminder 
brought  the  servitor  to  his  senses,  and  he  promised 
strict  obedience  to  his  master’s  orders.  The  two 
then  talked  over  details,  and  Leonard  was  dispatched 
about  his  business. 

He  had  been  instructed  to  do  various  things,  in 
quick  succession,  but  two  points  perplexed  him  most 
of  all. 

^How  am  1 to  enter  the  house  of  Madame  de  B16- 
court  without  being  suspected?”  he  asked  himself, 
in  sore  distress  of  mind.  “And  how  am  I to  reach 
General  Beaurepaire,  at  the  dead  of  night,  unarmed 
and  alone?” 

As  for  the  baron,  he  was  not  at  all  perplexed.  He 
felt  sure  that  Leonard  would,  at  all  hazards,  do  what 
he  had  been  told.  “He  is  to  give  me,  while  I go  to 
the  emigrant’s  camp,  outside  the  town,  a signal  of 
his  success.  I shall  soon  see  that  signal,”  the  baron 
smiled.  As  for  scruples  he  had  none;  besides  it  was 
Leonard  who  was  to  commit  the  crimes. 

“The  emigrant’s  camp,”  so-called,  was  a collection 
of  royalist  Frenchmen,  who  had  assembled  to  fight 
against  the  nation,  and  for  the  restoration  of  the 
monarchy.  They,  to  a certain  extent,  atfiliated  with 
the  Austrians  and  Prussians,  all  being  alike  hostile 
to  the  Kepablic. 

Lowendaal  secretly  visited  this  camp  that  night, 
and  while  waiting  there  m«t  face  to  face  with  the 
Count  de  Neipperg. 

The  rivals  and  enemies  scowled,  but  saluted  each 
other  with  ceremonious  politeness,  like  two  duelists, 
who  bow  low  before  trying  to  lay  each  other  low 
forever. 

Lowendaal  had  ostensibly  visited  the  emigrant’s 


116 


MADAME  8ANB-GENE, 


camp  to  bring  news  of  the  intended  surrender  of  the 
town,  and  on  this  account  he  was  received  in  person 
by  the  commander  of  the  camp. 

While  the  baron  talked  with  the  commander,  he 
kept  his  eyes  turned  in  a certain  direction.  Suddenly 
he  saw,  in  the  town  of  Verdun,  a peculiar  light  as  of 
a fire.  It  was  the  agreed-upon  signal;  Leonard  had 
done  his  work.  Yes,  there  could  be  no  mistake — the 
fire  was  in  the  northern  portion  of  the  town,  a part 
which  had  as  yet  been  spared  by  the  besieging  forces; 
there  could  be  no  mistake,  and  Beaurepaire  was  dead — 
that  was  what  the  signal  signified.  The  baron  smiled 
cruelly,  triumphantly — the  great  obstacle  in  his  path 
had  been  removed — the  only  man  he  really  dreaded 
had  been  obliterated.  He  could  afford  to  smile. 

His  main  purpose  in  his  visit  to  the  emigrant 
camp  had  been  accomplished.  He  had  seen  the  sig- 
nal, and  now  knew  what  to  do.  He  cut  the  interview 
with  the  Austrian  general  as  short  as  he  decently 
could,  assured  the  general  of  the  absolute  certainty 
that  Verdun  would  capitulate,  hinted  mysteriously 
that  the  great  barrier  to  capitulation.  General  Beau- 
repaire had  been  removed,  and  then  returned  to 
Verdun. 

The  Count  de  Neipperg  had  been  present  during 
this  interview,  and  showed  as  openly  as  he  dared  his 
contempt  for  the  baron,  who,  thick  as  his  hide  was, 
winced  beneath  his  withering  looks. 

And  when  the  baron  had  departed,  De  Neipperg 
openly  expressed  his  suspicions,  from  the  baron’s 
positive  knowledge  of  Beaurepaire’s  ‘‘removal,”  that 
Beaurepaire  had  met  with  foul  play,  with  the  baron 
either  a principal  or  an  accessory  to  the  deed. 

“At  any  rate,”  said  the  commander  of  the  emi- 
grant camp,  “I  shall  continue  our  fire  on  the  ram- 
parts of  Verdun  until  we  see  raised  there  the  flag  of 
truce.” 


ifADAME  SAJ^S-GJEJJYU. 


' 117 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Catherine’s  night  alarm— a hero’s  end. 

Leonard  had  left  his  master,  the  baron,  perplexed 
and  discomfited,  as  we  have  seen.  He  made  his  way 
as  best  he  could  to  the  Porte  de  France.  The  cannon 
roared  on  that  side  of  the  town,  and  Leonard  was  a 
coward  as  well  as  a scoundrel.  But  even  scoundrels 
are  brave  when  desperate.  He  was  now  seeking  a 
soldier — he  was  on  the  hunt,  by  the  baron’s  orders, 
for  General  Beaurepaire,  and  so  he  must  perforce  go 
among  the  fighters. 

Near  the  gate  Leonard  saw  a crowd  of  men  gath- 
ered around  a table.  Here  at  least  there  was  no  fight- 
ing going  on,  only  eating  and  drinking.  Leonard 
did  not  therefore  hesitate  to  approach. 

Bread,  sausages,  bottles  and  glasses  were  spread  on 
a rude  board  table.  It  was  the  canteen  of  the  Thir- 
teenth Light,  tended  by  the  fair  Catherine  herself,  in 
person.  She  was  as  usual  lively,  smart,  jolly,  shrewd, 
wide-awake. 

Near  the  table  was  her  wagon,  and  in  the  wagon 
slept  the  little  Henriot.  Catherine  ever  and  anon 
glanced  toward  the  little  fellow  fondly.  ‘‘The  can- 
non lulls  him  as  though  it  were  a cradle-song,”  she 
said  to  herself.  And  then  turning  to  a soldier,  she 
loudly  execrated  the  Prussians. 

During  the  siege  Beaurepaire  had  been  at  every 
point  where  there  was  danger,  and  Catherine  had 
followed  Beaurepaire. 

Like  a war-goddess  she  shamed  the  laggards,  she 
encouraged  the  courageous,  she  helped  the  wounded, 
she  fired  guns,  she  prevented  panics,  she  was  invalu- 
able; she  was,  without  thinking  of  heroism,  a heroine. 


MADAME  8AMB-aEA(E, 


11b 

Beanrepaire  noticed  her,  and  praised  her;  while  as 
for  her  husband,  he  almost  worshiped  her. 

It  was  her  baptism  of  fire. 

But  now  she  had  returned  to  the  canteen. 

Leonard  approached  her.  Catherine  looked  at 
him;  she  did  not  like  his  looks.  He  asked  her  where 
he  could  find  General  Beaurepaire. 

‘^You  are  in  civilian’s  dress,”  answered  Catherine; 
“you  are  not  a soldier.  What  do  you  want  to  see 
the  general  about.” 

“That’s  my  business,”  replied  Leonard,  half  smil- 
ing, half  scowling,  “but  I must  see  him.” 

“You  choose  a bad  time,”  said  Catherine,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders. 

“I  choose  what  time  I can  get,”  was  the  reply. 
“I  have  some  important  news  for  the  general.” 

“Possibly,”  said  Catherine,  “but  I don’t  think  you 
will  be  able  to  see  him  to-night.” 

“Possibly,  but  I will  try,”  retorted  Leonard,  and 
he  walked  away. 

Catherine  did  not  like  this.  She  scented  mystery 
and  danger  for  Beaurepaire,  perhaps.  She  had  no 
proof  of  anything  wrong,  but  she  believed  in  her  own 
intuitions.  She  had  reason  to  do  so.  She  determined 
to  tell  her  husband  about  this  civilian  stranger  who 
was  anxious  to  see  Beaurepaire.  But  her  husband  just 
then  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Husbands  never  are 
to  be  found  when  wanted. 

And  suddenly  she  recollected  having  seen  this 
man’s,  this  strange  civilian’s  face  before.  Yes,  she 
was  certain  of  it.  She  racked  her  brain  to  remember 
when  and  where. 

“Ah,  I have  it  at  last,”  she  cried  to  herself,  “I 
recall  him  now.  I have  seen  him  with  the  Baron 
Lowendaal,  but  I am  sure  that  the  baron  is  a traitor 
and  a rascal.  Probably  this  other  man  is  no  better. 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


119 


Why  should  he  be  so  anxious  to  see  Beaurepaire? 
There  is  some  underhanded  business  going  on,  but  I 
shall  find  it  out,  or  my  name  is  not  Catherine  Sans- 
G^ne.” 

The  more  she  thought  about  the  matter,  the  more 
convinced  and  the  more  anxious  she  became.  At 
last  she  could  endure  the  suspense  no  longer,  and 
when  as  night  advanced,  her  customers  became  few, 
she  sent  away  the  few  that  were  left,  under  the  plea 
that  she  was  weary  and  must  sleep. 

‘‘Amuse  yourselves,”  she  said  to  those  she  thus 
dismissed,  “on  the  ramparts.  You  will  find  a few 
men  there  still,  trying  to  place  gabions  and  set 
guns.” 

And  then,  after  kissing  the  sleeping  Henriot,  and 
neatly  arranging  her  canteen,  she  sallied  forth  into 
the  dark  streets.  Her  instinct  led  her  first  toward 
the  house  of  Madame  de  Blecourt,  where  Beaure- 
paire’s  sister  resided  and  where  the  general  slept. 

There,  if  anywhere,  danger  threatened  Beaurepaire. 
She  hastened  along  sadly,  she  divined  coming  sorrow, 
she  scented  crime  and  treason. 

Suddenly,  as  she  approached  the  Blecourt  house, 
she  heard  a shot. 

It  was  not  a surprising  noise  in  a city  that  was 
besieged,  but  in  this  lonely  quarter,  far  from  the 
ramparts,  it  was  simply  frightful. 

It  meant  murder.  She  saw  the  shadow  of  a mail 
running  away.  She  fancied,  nay,  she  was  sure  it 
was  the  shadow  of  the  man  in  civilian’s  dress,  whom 
she  had  disliked  and  distrusted  so. 

Should  she  pursue  him?  No!  On  to  the  Blecourt 
house!  See  if  Beaurepaire  is  safe. 

“ Oh,  God ! what  does  this  mean?”  cried  Catherine, 
as  she  neared  the  Blecourt  mansion. 

People  were  calling  out  for  help.  Some  one 
shouted  “Fire!” 


120 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


Fire  indeed  it  was.  A red  light  shot  forth.  The 
Bleconrt  residence  was  in  flames. 

The  old  dowager  aunt  of  Mile.  Herminie,  her 
bigot  aunt,  Madame  de  Bleconrt,  appeared  upon  the 
balcony  of  her  house,  waving  her  withered  arms 
wildly.  Clouds  of  dense  black  smoke  formed  around 
the  open  windows,  great  tongues  of  flame  seemed  to 
lick  the  roof.  The  servants  of  the  establishment  lost 
their  heads,  and  rah  about  distracted,  doing  nothing. 
Finally  they  all  ran  away. 

Meanwhile  the  courageous  Catherine,  intent  on 
saving  human  life,  rushed  into  the  burning  house, 
mounted  the  already  flaming  stairs,  and  entered  the 
first  room  she  found  with  its  door  open.  She  was 
prepared  to  drag  its  inmate  forth. 

“Is any  one  asleep  here?”  she  cried.  “Come,  save 
yourself  and  quickly.  Can  I aid  you?” 

No  answer  came  from  the  room,  and  the  smoke 
prevented  her  from  entering  in. 

Suddenly  a glare  of  darting  flame  illuminated  the 
apartment  through  the  smoke. 

Catherine  peered  within  the  chamber;  then  despite 
her  bravery  she  gave  a shriek. 

It  was  a shriek  more  of  horror  than  of  terror.  For 
she  had  seen  by  the  glare  of  the  flames  a man 
motionless  upon  the  bed,  and  that  man  was  General 
Beaurepaire. 

Danger  was  all  around  him,  yet  there  he  lay 
stretched,  still  as  the  dead. 

Catherine  rushed  into  the  room  and  reached  the 
bed,  though  she  could  scarcely  breathe  for  the  smoke. 
The  glare,  too,  of  the  light  had  now  died  away.  She 
was  in  the  dark,  she  could  but  grope  with  her  hands, 
she  might  never  herself  leave  this  room  alive. 

But  she  heeded  not;  she  found  her  way  with  her 
hands.  “The  general  must  have  fainted,”  she 
thought. 


MADAME  SAMS-GEME. 


121 


Ah ! she  was  at  his  side  at  last.  She  touched  him, 
but  he  moved  not,  there  was  not  even  any  sound  of 
breathing. 

“ What  a sleep  to  be  sure,”  she  thought,  “and  at 
such  a time.”  Her  very  blood  froze  with  terror  as 
an  idea  suggested  itself. 

“My  God!  it  is  true,”  she  cried  in  agony,  as  she 
laid  her  ear  upon  the  general’s  breast.  “His  heart 
has  ceased  to  beat — he  is  dead.” 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  forehead.  Once  more 
she  shrieked,  for  she  felt  blood;  her  fingers  were 
thick  with  it;  they  stuck  together  with  it. 

She  recoiled,  she  felt  stunned,  she  was  taken  sick. 
“Ah,  the  smoke  is  killing  me.”  She  rushed  to 
the  window,  opened  it  and  revived.  “But  it  was 
not  the  smoke  that  killed  /u’m,”  she  thought,  looking 
at  the  dead  general  on  the  bed;  “no,  he  was  dead 
when  the  fire  began.  He  has  been  murdered,  and 
then  the  house  was  fired  to  hide  the  crime,  and  that 
baron  and  that  man  were  concerned  in  his  murder,  I 
will  swear  it.  But  he  shall  be  avenged,  I swear 
that,  too.” 

She  rushed  from  the  room  and  heard  a woman 
singing  a cradle  song.  She  could  not  believe  it — a 
woman  singing  a child’s  ditty  while  the  house  was 
burning.  But  so  it  was;  the  voice  came  from  the 
story  above,  and  Catherine  climbed  in  the  direction 
of  the  voice. 

She  found  Mile.  Herminie  de  Beaurepaire  hold- 
ing her  sleeping  daughter  on  her  lap,  and  chanting 
a lullaby  which  was  a death-song. 

A glance  at  the  young  girl’s  calm  manner  but 
wild  eye  convinced  Catherine  that  the  lady  had  gone 
mad  from  trouble.  Catherine  had  now  to  deal  with 
a maniac.  The  brother  killed,  the  sister  crazy. 

There  was  no  time  for  words.  Silently,  swiftly, 
Catherine  led  the  mother  down  the  stairs,  and  carried 


122 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


the  child.  As  the  mad  woman  passed  the  still  open 
door  of  the  room  where  the  general  was  lying  dead, 
she  shrieked:  ^‘Thafc  man  with  the  pistol,  he  shot 
him  in  the  temple,  he  will  kill  me,”  and  she  fell  at 
the  doorway. 

Catherine  could  not  move  or  carry  her.  She 
rushed  downstairs  into  the  street  with  the  child, 
handed  her  to  the  soldiers  who,  now  understanding 
the  situation,  were  doing  what  they  could.  And 
then  returning  with  assistance,  she  carried  down  the 
mad  woman  and  her  dead  brother. 

The  crazed  girl  would  have  it  that  this  was  her 
wedding-day,  and  that  the  burning  house  was  a huge 
candle  lighted  for  the  nuptial  ceremony. 

Madame  de  Blecourt  broke  her  leg  in  jumping 
from  the  balcony  to  the  street,  and  died  a few  days 
after.  The  mad  girl  was  taken  care  of  by  a relative. 
Beaurepaire  was  said  to  have  committed  suicide  to 
avoid  surrender,  and  was  buried  with  great  honors. 
But  the,  town  of  Verdun  was  surrendered  to  the 
Prussians,  thanks  to  the  Baron  Lowendaal. 


But  the  French  garrison  of  Verdun  had  been  al- 
lowed the  honors  of  war.  They  went  out  with  flags 
flying,  and  their  arms  in  their  hands.  Lefebvre, 
now  captain,  was  sent  north  with  the  Thirteenth 
Infantry;  his  wife  went  with  him  with  her  canteen, 
and  little  Alice,  now  practically  motherless,  was 
taken  along,  with  little  Henriot,  under  Catherine’s 
care. 

‘^Now,  dear  heart,”  she  used  to  say  to  her  husband, 
‘^we  have  two  children  whom  our  country  has  sent 
us,  we  who  have  none  of  our  own.” 

Lefebvre  would  then  express  his  determination  to 
rectify  this  matrimonial  error,  and  supply  this  want, 
and  then  they  would  kiss  like  lovers. 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


123 


The  volunteers  marched  out  of  Verdun  with  anger 
in  their  eyes,  but  with  hope  in  their  hearts,  vowing 
to  retake  the  town,  and  to  drive  out,  at  the  bayonet’s 
point,  the  Austrians  and  the  Prussians,  who  would 
never  have  entered  the  place  had  it  not  been  for  the 
traitors  of  Verdun. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN— NAPOLEON  BONA- 
PARTE’S ATTEMPT  AT  SUICIDE  AND  WHY  IT  FAILED 

— HIS  SECOND  DEFEAT. 

While  the  events  we  have  narrated  were  transpir- 
ing in  the  east,  and  while  elsewhere  Dumouriez  and 
Kellermann  saved  France  and  the  republic,  what 
had  become  of  Bonaparte? 

He,  as  already  told  in  Marcel’s  narrative,  had 
secured  the  departure  of  his  family  from  Corsica. 
He  had  brought  them  with  him  to  Marseilles,  but 
he  and  they  were  penniless. 

It  is  needless  to  relate  in  detail  the  sufferings  of  a 
moneyless  family  in  a strange  city.  The  Bonapartes 
wandered  from  lodging  to  lodging,  in  the  humblest 
quarters  of  the  town,  and  were  on  several  occasions 
turned  out  into  the  streets  for  non-payment  of  reint. 

Landlords  are  pitiless.  Keepers  of  furnished  rooms 
are  seldom  furnished  with  a heart. 

But  Madame  M^re,  the  real  head  of  the  Bonaparte 
family  at  this  period,  was  not  a woman  of  the  ordi- 
nary stamp.  She  was  possessed  of  an  energy  as  great 
as  that  of  her  illustrious  son,  and  a will-power  which 
generally  impressed  all  who  met  her.  It  was  fj:om 
her,  his  mother,  that  Bonaparte  derived  all  his 
industry,  all  his  daring,  all  his  determination,  and 
he  always  acknowledged  his  obligation. 

Madame  never  allowed  herself,  under  the  most 


124 


MA  DA  ME  SAN  8-GENE. 


pressing  circumstances,  to  become  disheartened.  She 
ever  hoped  for  the  future,  and  endeavored  to  justify 
that  hope. 

As  soon  as  she  was  driven  from  one  shelter  she 
secured  another,  till  at  last  she  found  a sure,  safe, 
steady  haven  of  rest  for  her  weary  family.  She  at- 
tracted the  favorable  notice  of  a Monsieur  Clary,  a 
well-to-do  soap  merchant  of  Marseilles,  who,  taking 
pity  on  her,  gave  her  two  rooms  in  the  upper  part  of 
his  house,  at  a reduced  rental. 

He  would  have  allowed  Madame  Bonaparte  to  have 
lived  rent  free,  but  she  was  not  an  object  of  charity 
yet.  She  took  in  sewing  from  the  neighbors,  and 
aided  by  her  daughters’  needlework  managed  to  sub- 
sist and  pay  her  room-rent. 

The  family  rose  at  dawn,  and  the  mother  and 
daughters  did  all  their  own  housework,  saw  to  the 
marketing,  kept  things  in  order.  None  were  allowed 
to  play,  except  the  youngest — a child  of  ten. 

Joseph  Bonaparte  was  lucky  enough  to  receive  a 
government  position  as  a military  commissioner,  but 
the  pay  was  woefully  small,  much  lighter  than  the 
work.  The  rest  of  “the  Bonaparte  boys”  did  noth- 
ing— they  had  nothing  to  do.  Napoleon  himself  was 
mustered  out  of  active  service,  and  lost  his  scanty 
pay. 

Ere  long,  despite  the  mother’s  pride,  and  the 
daughters’  needlework,  the  family  were  reduced  to 
absolute  penury,  and  were  obliged  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives  to  eat  the  bitter  bread  of  charity. 

As  Corsican  refugees,  victims  to  their  devotion  to 
France,  the  Bonapartes  were  legally  entitled  to  ra- 
tions of  bread  from  the  town,  and  though  for  several 
months  Madame  Bonaparte  would  not  even  think  of 
such  a thing,  she  at  last  was  obliged  to  avail  herself 
of  it.  Tears  came  into  the  proud  lady’s  eyes  as  she 
applied  to  the  city  authorities  for  her  quantum  of 


MADAME  8AN8~GENE. 


125 


loaveg,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  her  needs  were 
pressing. 

Napoleon  wept  with  her,  bnt  what  conld  he  do? 
At  least  he  could  get  rid  of  himself.  He  need  be 
no  longer  a drag  upon  his  mother,  a burden  on  his 
family.  If  he  could  no4;  support  them  or  himself, 
he  could  at  least  ^‘shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil,”  and 
make  an  end  of  it.  He  resolved  to  do  so. 

All  his  life  he  was  a fatalist,  and  if  it  was  his  fate 
to  kill  himself— well,  it  was  kismet. 

He  had  hoped  for  higher  destinies,  he  had  believed 
in  his  star;  but  if  it  was  so  arranged  that  he  was  to 
perish  young,  in  his  prime,  by  his  own  hand,  why 
then  he  had  only  read  his  stars  under  a mistake — > 
given  his  life-chart  the  wrong  interpretation. 

He  had  a sou  in  his  pocket — his  last  sou ; a beggar 
came  along  and  solicited  alms.  Napoleon  laughed 
bitterly,  thinking  how  much  more  wretched  and 
more  in  need  of  help  he  was  than  this  beggar  who 
asked  him  for  what  he  was  wanting  himself,  ,and 
then  he  gave  the  coin  to  the  beggar  and  walked  down, 
utterly  penniless  and  hopeless,  toward  the  sea. 

It  was  a rocky  coast,  and  one  great  rock  projected 
far  over  the  coast  line,  forming  a sort  of  promontory. 
The  Man  of  Destiny  made  his  way  with  difficulty  over 
the  stones  to  this  projection,  and  stood  there  awhile 
with  folded  arms — ^his  favorite  attitude — looking 
down  upon  the  calm  green  sea  beneath. 

The  waters  seemed  to  call  him.  In  a voice  of  their 
own,  audible  to  him  alone,  they  cried: 

‘‘Come  down  to  us.  For  what  have  you  to  live 
longer  on  earth.  You  are  useless  to  your  country, 
to  your  family,  to  yourself.  Your  sword  has  been 
taken  from  you,  and  though  your  genius,  God- 
given,  cannot  be  thus  taken,  what  good  can  it  do 
you?  You  have  lost  all  confidence  in  yourself,  and 
no  wonder.  What  reason  have  you  for  any  self- 


126 


MADAME  8AN8-GENB. 


belief?  what  have  yon  to  show  for  it?  Your  star 
ha  set,  or  become  forever  hidden  in  the  clouds;  you 
are  all  alone  in  your  absurd  aspirations.  You  have 
really  no  one  to  sympathize  with  you,  or  understand 
you ; you  are  a burden  to  the  woman  you  love  best — 
your  mother.  You  have  lived  your  life;  it  has  been 
a failure;  one  plunge,  die  the  death  that  all  must 
die  sooner  or  later,  and  have  it  over.” 

Yes,  the  waves  were  right.  If  he  died  to-day 
there  would  be  one  less  mouth  to  feed  to-morrow, 
one  pensioner  less  upon  the  scanty  and  unwilling 
charity  of  the  state. 

And  yet,  even  to  a pauper  and  a pensioner,  life  is 
sweet.  He  hesitated ; he  stood  debating  with  himself 
upon  the  verge  of  nothingness — on  the  edge  of  the 
unknown. 

He  saw  a ship  sailing  along.  ‘‘If  that  vessel  ap- 
proaches the  land  I shall  keep  on  living;  if  on  the 
contrary  it  goes  farther  out  to  sea,  I shall  at  once 
leap  from  this  rock.”  So  he  arranged  within  him- 
self, chancing  his  fate  upon  a passing  sail. 

He  watched  the  ship;  it  was  leaving  the  land.  It 
was  lessening  in  the  distance.  “I  must  do  it,”  he 
said.  He  calculated  the  distance  and  the  force  of 
the  spring  necessary  to  clear  the  rock  in  his  descent, 
when — “Bonaparte!  Bonaparte!”  he  heard  his  own 
name  called  aloud. 

He  turned.  A fisherman,  or  a man  dressed  in 
fishing  garb,  was  running  straight  toward  him  with 
open  arms. 

He  wondered  what  it  all  meant,  but  his  first  im- 
pulse was  not  to  heed  the  interruption,  but  in  some 
more  secluded  spot  to  kill  himself. 

But  again  the  voice  cried: 

“Bonaparte!  Napoleon  Bonaparte!”  and  the  man 
in  fisher’s  garb  came  nearer  and  nearer,  till  reaching 
where  he  stood,  the  newcomer  embraced  him  ere  he 
was  aware. 


MADAME  SAMS-QENE. 


m 


‘‘Is  it  really  yon,  my  dear  Napoleon?”  said  the 
voice.  “What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here  in  this 
lonely  spot,  and  looking  like  a man  about  to  commit 
some  desperate  deed?” 

Then  seeing  Bonaparte’s  absolute  and  utter  aston- 
ishment the  stranger  cried:  “Why,  don’t  you  know 
me?  Have  I changed  so  much?  Don’t  you  remem- 
ber Desmazis,  your  old  comrade?  I served  with  you 
in  the  artillery  regiment  at  La  Fere.  Surely  you 
cannot  have  forgotten  the  jolly  nights  we  had  to- 
gether at  Valence?” 

The  look  of  wonder  and  displeasure  left  Bona- 
parte’s face  as  he  listened,  and  was  replaced  by  rec- 
ognition and  genuine  delight. 

“What!”  he  said,  “my  dear  old  comrade,  my  true 
friend  Desmazis,  I am  indeed  as  glad  as  I am  sur- 
prised to  see  you  here  after  all  these  years.” 

And  then,  in  his  turn,  he  embraced  the  stranger. 

Explanations  ensued ; Desmazis  gave  his  story  first. 
He  had  emigrated  at  the  beginning  of  the  revolution, 
and  lived  in  peace  and  plenty  in  Italy,  along  the 
shore  near  Savona,  but  he  had  recently  received  word 
that  his  old  mother,  residing  near  Marseilles,  had 
been  taken  seriously  ill.  So  he  had  donned  an  old 
suit  of  fisherman’s  clothes,  that  he  might  not  attract 
any  attention,  and  had  come  to  France  to  see  his 
mother. 

He  had  found  the  old  lady  already  convalescing, 
so  having  made  her  happy  by  his  presence  and  pres- 
ents, he  was  returning  to  his  beloved  Italy  again,  a 
happy  man — and  much  the  happier  for  having  thus 
unexpectedly  met  his  often-thought-of  comrade, 
Bonaparte. 

“But  you?”  he  turned  suddenly  to  his  companion 
and  looked  at  him  keenly,  “What  were  you  doing, 
or  about  to  do,  at  this  lonely  spot?” 

Bonaparte,  generally  so  self-poised  and  self-pos- 


128 


MADAMJE  SAJSrS-GEJSTK 


sessed,  now  stammered,  hesitated,  almost  blushed,  as 
though  detected  in  a folly  or  a crime.  And  he  looked 
unconsciously  upon  the  sea  below,  whose  waters 
seemed  to  call  him  still. 

‘‘Ah!  you  are  unhappy,  my  dear  Bonaparte,”  cried 
his  old  comrade.  “What  makes  you  suffer?  What 
misfortune  hangs  over  you?  Tell  your  old  friend. 
Why,  man,  you  look  as  if  you  were  thinking  of  taking 
your  own  life.” 

“You  have  guessed  it,”  said  Bonaparte,  “or  rather 
the  instinct  of  your  sympathetic  soul  has  guided  you 
aright.  I was  about  to  throw  myself  into  the  sea.” 

“ del!  and  what  for,  man?” 

“For  poverty.  I have  lost  my  position  and  my 
pay.  I have  no  money  and  a large  family.  I have  no 
bread  and  no  hope.” 

“Poverty!  only  that?”  shouted  Desmazis,  almost 
joyfully.  “Only  poverty?  That’s  easily  cured — I 
can  cure  it.  Truly,  I am  in  luck,  and  came  in  a 
good  time.  Take  this,”  and  he  handed  Napoleon  a 
hag  from  under  his  belt;  “here  are  ten  thousand 
francs  in  gold.  Don’t  hesitate,  I say,  I am  rich — 
very  rich — and  I can  spare  them.  Pshaw!  take 
them  as  a loan  if  you  will  not  have  them  as  a gift. 
You  can  pay  me  back  as  soon  as  you  like.  Either 
take  them,  or  drop  them  on  the  ground,  or  throw 
them  into  the  sea,  for  I will  not  touch  that  bag  again. 
Take  it,  mon  cUei%  for  your  family'' s sake.” 

“For  my  family’s  sake,  God  bless  you!”  cried 
Napoleon,  as  he  received  the  bag. 

Then  like  the  true  gentleman  and  nature’s  noble- 
man that  he  was,  Desmazis  almost  ran  away  from 
Bonaparte  to  escape  his  thanks.  revoirV  he 

cried,  embracing  the  friend  he  had  so  materially 
aided,  whose  life  he  had  really  saved.  Au  revoir^ 
I must  be  off  and  away,  my  men  are  coming  in  my 
gig  to  take  me  to  my  ship;  I am  homeward  bound. 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


Gyjod  luck  to  you,  my  dear  Napoleon,”  and  he  disap- 
peared, reached  his  ship,  and  set  sail  for  his  beloved 
Italy. 

Bonaparte  for  awhile  stood  stunned.  He  allowed 
his  preserver  to  depart  without  a word.  What  could 
he  say?  He  could  but  feel!  As  if  fascinated,  he 
looked  upon  the  bag  of  gold,  realizing  all  it  meant 
to  him  and  his.  To  his  excited  soul  it  was  as  if  that 
golden  shower  had  fallen  on  him  from  the  sky. 

Then  suddenly  he  started  off  on  a run  toward  the 
town,  and,  like  a whirlwind,  entered  the  cheerless 
room  where  his  mother  and  sisters  sat  hungry  at 
their  needlework. 

He  opened  the  bag  before  their  dazzled  eyes  with- 
out a word,  and  spread  the  golden  pieces  on  the  deal 
table,  chinking  the  money  joyfully — how  he  enjoyed 
the  sound.  Then  he  found  speech  at  last.  ‘‘Moth- 
er,” he  cried,  “we  are  rich.  Girls,  you  shall  have 
enough  to  eat — dinner  every  day,  and  you  shall  wear 
new  gowns.  See,  what  a windfall.” 

“What  a godsend,”  said  the  mother  gratefully. 
“But  how  came  you  by  this  gold,  my  Napoleon?” 

And  then  he  told  them  all. 

The  Bonapartes  were  happy. 

In  after  years,  when  a great  man,  Napoleon  caused 
a diligent  search  to  be  made  for  his  benefactor. 
Desmazis  was  found  in  a little  village  in  Provence, 
cultivating  violets. 

He  at.  first  pretended  not  to  know  Bonaparte,  and 
to  have  forgotten  all  about  the  little  incident  of  the 
bag  of  gold. 

But  Napoleon’s  memory  was  not  so  treacherous, 
and  he  insisted  on  showing  his  gratitude.  He  paid 
his  money-debt  with  ample  interest,  giving  Desmazis 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  for  ten.  His  old 
comrade  positively  refused  to  be  thus  recklessly  com- 
pensated, but  the  emperor  would  have  his  way.  He 


180 


MADAME  8AN8-0ENE. 


absolutely  threatened  to  make  things  unpleasant  for 
his  benefactor  if  he  persisted  in  hisref  usal ; so  Desmazis 
yielded.  But  Napoleon  was  not  even  then  content. 
As  his  former  comrade  was  so  fond  of  flowers,  the 
emperor  appointed  him  superintendent  of  the  royal 
gardens  at  a liberal  salary. 

It  was  an  episode  creditable  to  all  parties  and  to 
human  nature. 

Altogether  independent  of  saving  Napoleon  from 
suicide,  Desmazis’  generosity  advanced  materially  the 
interests  of  Napoleon’s  family.  It  aided  his  brother 
Joseph  in  forming  a matrimonial  alliance  with  Mile. 
Julie,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Monsieur  Clary,  the 
wealthy  soap  merchant,  who  had  befriended  the 
Bonapartes  and  had  almost  given  them  their  rooms. 

And  hereby  hangs  a tale. 

Monsieur  Clary  had  another  daughter,  a pretty 
girl  called  Desiree.  Encouraged  by  the  success  of 
his  brother  Joseph  with  one  sister,  Napoleon  courted 
the  other. 

He  believed  in  matrimonial  advancement,  and 
Mile.  Desiree  Clary  was  not  only  fair  to  look  at, 
but,  thanks  to  her  father,  well-to-do.  The  Clary 
family  were  likewise  well-connected.  It  would  be 
an  advantageous  marriage  for  Napoleon;  that  settled 
it  for  him. 

But  not  for  her.  The  young  lady  had  the  bad 
taste  and  the  bad  luck  to  refuse  the  future  emperor 
of  the  French. 

To  tell  the  truth,  she  had  no  special  faith  in  any 
particularly  bright  future  for  her  suitor.  He  seemed 
to  her  but  an  ordinary  young  man,  who  was  rather 
sterner  and  more  gloomy  than  most  young  men. 

It  must  be  conceded  as  a mere  matter  of  fact,  that 
the  man  who  conquered  Europe  never  conquered 
women,  until  after  he  had  become  powerful  and  suc- 
cessful. As  emperor  he  never  made  advances  in 


MADAME  SANS-GEJSTE. 


131 


Tain,  as  witness  the  famous  actress,  Mile.  Mars; 
but  on  his  unaided  merits,  while  a young  man,  he 
could  boast  of  few  feminine  victories.  Defeated  first 
in  his  designs  on  Madame  Perrnon,  he  failed  for  the 
second  time  with  Mile.  Clary. 

And  he  seemed  to  feel  his  second  defeat  more 
acutely  than  he  had  his  first.  The  refusal  of  the 
j^oung  girl  seemed  to  rankle  more  than  that  of  the 
mature  widow.  Being  still  a young  man  himself, 
perhaps  this  was  but  natural. 

For  a month  or  more,  Napoleon  persisted  in  his 
hopeless  suit;  he  would  not  take ‘‘No”  for  an  answer. 
He  almost  rendered  himself  obnoxious  to  the  young 
lady  by  his  insistence,  and  when  at  last  he  abandoned 
the  attempt,  he  swore  to  make  the  girl  repent  her 
refusal. 

And  doubtless  one  of  the  reasons  which  later  on 
led  Napoleon  to  seek  Josephine,  the  Widow  Beau- 
harnais,  was  his  desire  to  show  both  the  Widow  Per- 
mon  and  Mile.  Desiree  Clary  that  he  could  secure 
a woman  superior  in  every  respect  to  either  of  them. 

And  yet  his  very  revenge  upon  Mile.  Clary  con- 
tributed indirectly  to  her  advancement.  For,  as 
Bonaparte  ascended,  he  raised  others  with  him,  and 
thanks  to  his  rise,  the  girl  who  rejected  him — this 
daughter  of  a soap-maker — became  the  wife  of  one  of 
Napoleon’s  companions-in-arms,  married  Bernadette, 
and  became  thereby  queen  of  Sweden. 

Such  then  was  the  history  of  Napoleon  up  to  the 
time  when,  in  our  true  story,  Lefebvreand  Catherine, 
his  wife,  marched  in  the  ranks  of  the  army  of  the 
north  toward  the  ever-memorable  town  of  Jemmapes. 


132 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


OHAPTEE  XVIL 

JEMMAPES— THE  NUPTIAL  MASS— A MARKIED  A.NB 

settled”  woman’s  UNEXPECTED  APPEARANCE  AS 

A ‘‘BRIDE.” 

Eobespierre  once  said : “ War  is  absurd,”  but  he 
added,  “nevertheless,  being  human,  man  must  go  to 
war.” 

Such  was  the  creed  of  the  republicans.  With 
them  war  was  indeed  “absurd;”  they  had  no  talented 
generals  and  no  trained  soldiers,  no  ammunition  and 
no  rations.  They  had  no  money,  they  had  nothing 
which  could  warrant  making  an  attack,  nor  did  they 
have  even  the  means  for  defense. 

All  their  generals  were  royalists  or  traitors,  Du- 
mouriez,  Dillon,  Castine,  Valence. 

Dumouriez  favored  the  young  Duke  de  Chartres, 
afterward  Louis^Philippe,  but  the  young  duke  did 
not  justify  the  predilection — at  least  not  on  the  field 
of  battle. 

But  the  army  of  the  republic,  though  composed 
of  undisciplined  volunteers,  possessed  what  is  more 
than  discipline  itself — patriotic  enthusiasm.  These 
volunteers  sang  the  Marseillaise,  the  Carmagnole, 
and  the  (Ja-ira  tunes  which  beat  time  to  their  wild 
marches,  and  they  could  fight  as  well  as  sing. 

It  was  at  Jemmapes  that  the  improvised  infantry  of 
the  republic,  commanded  by  Lefebvre  and  Hoche, 
then  merely  subordinate  officers,  began  its  victorious 
career  of  twenty  years. 

And  on  the  eve  of  battle  the  chateau  de  Lowen- 
daal  (in  the  center  of  the  district  which  separated 
the  French  from  the  Austrian  army,  protected  from 
the  French  by  wood  and  stream,  and  from  the  Aus- 
trians by  a mountain  range),  was  occupied  by  its 


MADAME  SAMS-GENE. ' 


133 


owner,  and  his  two  guests  of  honor,  the  Marquis  da 
Laveline  and  his  daughter  Blanche. 

The  baron,  being  now  rid  of  General  Beaurepaire 
and  his  sister  Herminie  (the  former  dead,  the  latter 
mad),  and  the  child,  Alice,  having  disappeared,  felt 
free  and  light  of  heart,  and  was  more  determined 
than  ever  to  marry  the  marquis’  daughter. 

True,  Mile.  Blanche  refused  absolutely  to  see 
him,  but  he  heeded  not.  He  had  the  father  in  his 
power — not  only  his  property,  but  his  honor,  his  life. 

For  the  Marquis  de  Laveline  had  been  concerned 
in  the  infamous  Diamond  Necklace  affair,  in  which 
Marie  Antoinette,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Kohan  so 
conspicuously  figured,  and  his  part  in  this  transaction 
(which  would  have  alike  in  France  and  Austria  for- 
feited his  life,  as  well  as  ruined  his  reputation),  was 
well  known  to  the  baron,  who  held  it  over  the  head 
of  his  guest  as  a menace. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  marriage  was  to  take 
place  at  midnight,  solemnized  in  the  chateau  by  the 
baron’s  chaplain,  but  Blanche  was  more  than  ever 
resolved  that  this  hated  union  should  never  be  con- 
secrated by  mortal  priest.  But  meanwhile  where 
was  Catherine  and  the  child,  her  little  Henriot? 

Although  the  lady  knew  it  not,  Catherine  then 
was  near  her,  where  the  camp  fires  of  the  Thirteenth 
Light  Infantry  lighted  up  the  woods  around  the 
chateau. 

And  that  night  the  faithful  and  heroic  Catherine 
resolved  to  call  on  Blanche  de  Laveline.  Her  determi- 
nation made,  she  put  her  two  pistols  into  her  belt, 
saying  nothing  to  her  husband,  who  probably  would 
have  disapproved  of  her  intention,  and  kissing  the 
little  Henriot,  who  lay  fast  asleep  beside  Alice,  with 
his  arm  around  her  neck,  she  whispered  softly  to  the 
sleeping  boy:  ‘‘My  darling,  I am  going  to  your  other 
mother,”  and  was  gone. 


134 


MADAME  SAMS-GENE, 


She  was  incurring  great  risk,  but  she  thought  not 
of  herself,  though  to  tell  the  truth  she  felt  the  least 
bit  guilty  at  leaving  her  husband,  though  only  for  a 
few  hours,  without  his  knowledge  and  consent. 

She  advanced  toward  the  woods,  and  there  she  saw, 
coming  toward  her,  a tall,  thin  man.  She  took  one 
of  her  pistols  from  her  belt  and  stood  ready  to  fire. 
‘‘Who  goes  there?”  she  cried,  loudly  enough  for  the 
man  to  hear,  but  not  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  by 
the  sentries. 

“No  enemy,  but  a friend — your  friend,  Madame 
Catherine,”  said  the  tall,  thin  man,  whom  she  now 
recognized  as  La  Violette. 

This  fellow  was  supposed  to  be  half-witted.  He 
was  a butt  for  his  companions,  but  Catherine  rather 
liked  him;  he  had  tended  faithfully  her  horse,  and 
helped  her  with  her  canteen,  but  he  bore  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  afraid  of  powder  and  ball,  in  short,  a 
coward. 

Catherine,  on  seeing  who  it  was,  put  back  her  pis- 
tol laughing.  “Well,  since  it  is  you,  I must  not 
scare  you,”  she  said;  “but  why  are  you  prowling 
about  here,  outside  the  lines;  it  is  a dangerous  time 
and  place  for  a coward.” 

La  Violette  came  closer  to  Catherine.  “I  will  tell 
you  why  I am  here  now,”  saic.  the  tall,  thin,  young 
man,  “I  saw  you,  Madame  Lefebvre,  as  you  left  the 
camp,  and  here  I am.” 

“What!  to  play  the  spy  upon  me,  La  Violette?” 

“Oh,  no,  but  I thought  you  might  be  running 
into  danger,  Madame  Lefebvre.” 

“Danger,  and  what  then?  Danger  and  you  gen- 
erally keep  far  apart.  La  Violette.” 

“Alas!  yes,  Madame  Catherine,  but  I thought  I 
would  form  its  acquaintance  to-night.” 

“Very  good.  La  Violette,  but  why  to-night?” 

“Because  1 wanted  to  see  you;  I have  something 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


135 


to  say  to  yon,  madanie.  Oh,  Catherine,  do  not 
send  me  hack.” 

Madame  Lefebvre  was  puzzled,  the  young  fellow 
seemed  desperately  earnest  in  his  desire  to  be  with 
her,  and  yet  what  did  he  want?  what  could  it  be? 
And  then  he  had  never  called  her  ^‘Catherine” — 
Catherine  without  any  prefix — before.  What  could 
he  mean?  She  was  not  kept  long  in  doubt. 

‘^Oh,  Madame  Catherine,”  cried  La  Violette, 
love  you.” 

Catherine  started,  uncertain  whether  to  wax  merry 
or  grow  indignant. 

‘‘Yes,  I love  you  so,”  the  tall,  thin,  young  fellow 
repeated.  “I  should  never  have  dared  to  tell  you  so 
in  the  daytime  at  the  canteen,  before  the  men;  but 
here  I am  not  a coward  in  the  dark;  night  makes  me 
brave.” 

As  he  spoke,  and  before  Catherine  could  speak, 
two  shots  were  heard;  La  Violette  disappeared. 
“The  brave  man  has  fied,”  she  said  to  herself. 

But  he  had  not.  For  in  a moment  more  shooting 
was  heard,  and  then  she  caught  sight  of  a man  flee- 
ing— not  La  Violette;  and  then  La  Violette  himself 
reappeared  with  a sword,  stained  with  blood.  “I 
have  kept  that  ‘Kaiserlick’  (a  term  of  reproach  ap- 
plied to  the  Austrians)  from  doing  any  more  firing. 

I killed  him,  but  the  other  one  escaped  me,”  said  La 
Violette. 

Catherine  looked  upon  her  new  lover  in  a new 
light.  He  might  be  a fool,  but  ho  certainly  was  no 
coward.  She  and  the  rest  had  misjudged  him;  she 
was  indeed  surprised. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  scold  him  roundly 
and  then  send  him  back  to  the  camp,  but  she  changed 
her  mind.  He  might  be  useful,  too.  After  all,  two 
are  safer  than  one. 

“La  Violette,”  she  said  sweetly,  “I  feel  it  my  duty 


136 


MADAME  8AMS-GENE. 


to  warn  you  that  I am  now  going  where  there  is 
danger — great  danger — and  precisely  wliat  I do  not 
know  myself.  Do  you  still  wish  to  share  my  perils 
to-night?” 

I follow  you  though  you  go  througlf  fire,”  said 
La  Violette. 

‘^Then  begin,”  laughed  Catherine,  ^^by  going 
through  water.  We  must  cross  this  stream  to  get  to 
where  I am  going — ^yonder  chateau.” 

That  is  where  ‘we’  are  going,  is  it?”  said  La  Vio- 
lette. “Lead  on,”  he  added,  “I  follow;  I’ll  swim  if 
need  be.” 

“Ob,  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,”  laughed  Catherine. 
“Now  for  it,”  she  said,  reaching  the  stream.  “ Close 
your  lips,  hold  your  head  up,  keep  your  eyes  wide 
open  —now.” 

The  two  crossed  the  stream,  now  almost  a river 
(the  Weme  it  is  called),  the  water  coming  up  to  their 
knees. 

Drying  their  feet  on  the  other  side,  they  advanced 
cautiously  till  they  reached  the  door  of  the  chateau 
stables. 

Catherine  felt  along  the  walls  for  a place  to  climb 
over  them.  Finding  a spot  where  the  stone  was 
crumbling,  she  signed  to  La  Violette  to  help  her 
climb. 

“With  pleasure,”  said  her  remarkable  lover,  “only 
too  happy;”  and  he  knelt  down  in  the  damp  grass, 
on  all  fours. 

“He  is  not  dignified,  but  decidedly  obliging,” 
thought  Madame  Lefebvre,  as  she  put  her  ample 
foot  upon  his  back,  and  then  rested  the  very 
considerable  weight  of  her  body  on  his  as  she  leaped 
over. 

A few  minutes  more  and  they  were  both  in  the 
chateau  garden.  Here  they  stepped  along  cautiously, 
hiding  as  much  as  possible  among  the  trees,  and  ap- 
proaching a room  where  lamps  burned  brightly. 


MABAME  8ANS-QENE. 


137 


The  Baron  de  Lowcndaal  and  the  Marqnis  de 
Laveline  had  a last  decisive  interview,  the  baron  had 
imposed  his  conditions.  Blanche  must  marry  him 
that  very  night,  or  in  every  way  the  marquis  would 
be  ruined. 

But  Blanche  refused  positively  to  wed  the  baron; 
she  was  in  fact  utterly  astonished  at  the  persistency 
of  her  most  unwelcome  suitor.  Taking  it  for  granted 
that  the  baron  had  received  her  letter,  which  she  had 
entrusted  to  Leonard,  she  wondered  how  any  man, 
with  pretensions  to  being  a gentleman,  or  even  with- 
out such  pretensions,  could  seek  to  unite  himself 
with  a woman  who  was  already  united  in  affection 
with  another  man,  and  of  which  mutual  affection 
such  a palpable  pledge  existed  as  little  Henriot. 

^^But  perphance,”  thought  Blanche,  ‘‘the  baron 
does  not  believe  we  have  a child.  Oh,  why  does  not 
Oatherine  bring  me  little  Henriot,  that  I may  prove 
it?  Ay,  I would  rather  prove  my  shame  than  be 
false  to  him  who  is,  in  heaven’s  sight,  my  husband. 
Oh,  where  is  Catherine?  Can  aught  have  befallen 
her,  or  the  child?  If  she  comes  not  within  the  hour 
I shall  flee  and  seek  her  and  my  child  myself.” 

Oatherine  came  not,  and  Blanche  de  Laveline  re- 
solved on  instant  flight.  She  would  take  the  road 
straight  onward  and  before  her.  Night  is  propitious 
for  escape.  The  very  presence  of  the  two  armies 
near  the  chateau  was  favorable;  surely  among  so 
many  soldiers  she  could  hide.  The  roads  were  full 
of  people  fleeing  from  their  homes,  before  the  ad- 
vancing troops.  A woman  like  herself,  disguised, 
apparently  poor  and  obscure,  could  pass  along  prob- 
ably unnoticed,  certainly  unsuspected.  Somehow 
she  would  go  somewhere,  and  get  there  some  time; 
she  would  reach  Brussels  or  Lille,  and  thence  to 
Paris,  to  Versailles,  to  And,  or  at  any  rate,  to  look 
for  Catherine  and  the  child.  She  had  her  jewels 


138 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


with  her,  also  a little  money.  Once  far  away,  safe 
from  the  hated  baron,  she  would  write  to  her  father, 
who  would  become  reconciled  to  the  inevitable. 

And  having  made  all  the  necessary  personal  ar- 
rangements, she  left  her  light  burning  in  her  room, 
descended  cautiously  the  stairs,  and  gained  a door 
leading  to  the  vegetable  garden. 

Without  the  slightest  noise  she  slipped  the  holt, 
and  was  free  in  the  open  air.  The  night  was  cold, 
clear,  but  not  so  very  dark;  but  once  in  the  woods 
she  could  not  be  seen;  but  as  she  turned  the  base- 
ment of  the  hall  and  passed  the  servants’  room,  she 
saw  under  a tree  two  forms,  two  strange  forms,  a 
man  and  a woman.  She  stopped,  shivered  with  fear, 
was  motionless  through  wonder.  The  two  mysterious 
forms  came  slowly  toward  her.  Blanche  de  Lave- 
line  was  paralyzed — she  could  not  advance,  she  could 
not  retreat,  she  could  not  scream. 

Suddenly  she  heard  the  woman’s  voice  addressing 
her.  She  noticed  that  the  woman  wore  a short  skirt, 
and  a little  hat,  with  the  brim  turned  up.  It  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  had  seen  that  woman  before; 
her  voice,  too,  sounded  familiar  as  it  said : “ Mademoi- 
selle, do  not  be  alarmed,  do  not  speak.  Are  you  not 
Mile.  Blanche  de  Laveline?” 

Mon  Dieu!  I know  her  now,”  said  Blanche;  ‘^are 
you  not  Catherine?  Ah!  yovL  are  Catherine,”  and 
impulsively  forgetting  all  distinctions  of  rank,  the 
women  embraced.  Catherine  then  hurriedly  ex- 
plained the  position  of  affairs  on  her  side  and  pre- 
sented LaViolette,  who  saluted  the  lady  respectfully, 
but  proudly.  He  felt  that  he  was  no  longer  a butt 
or  a coward;  he  was  a man,  doing  man’s  work,  and 
protecting  two  women  at  night.  What  an  adventure 
for  La  Violeite! 

‘‘Ah ! where  is  my  little  Henriot?”  asked  the  boy’s 
‘‘other”  and  real  mother,  anxiously. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE 


139 


Catherine  reassured  her  that  the  child  was  safe 
and  happy. 

“But  your  costume?”  said  Blanche  de  Laveline, 
looking  at  Catherine’s  peculiar  dress  as  a cantini^re. 
Catherine  explained.  “Oh,  I must  have  my  child 
to-night,”  cried  Blanche  abruptly. 

Catherine  told  her  that  at  this  very  moment  little 
Henriot  was  doubtless  sleeping  in  the  wagon  of  the 
canteen  of  the  Thirteenth  Light  Infantry,  in  the 
French  camp.  Whereupon  Blanche  insisted  on  going 
to  the  camp  forthwith. 

Catherine  and  La  Violette  both  endeavored  to  dis- 
suade her  from  this  idea,  advising  her  to  remain  in 
the  chateau  over  night,  and  to  seek  her  child  in  the 
morning.  “But  I must  be  wedded  to  the  Baron  de 
Lowendaal  this  very  night,”  said  Blanche;  “that  is, 
if  I remain  here,  which  I will  not.”  And  she  told 
Catherine  her  exact  position. 

“What  is  to  be  done?”  cried  Catherine.  Like  the 
good  wife  she  was,  she  added:  “What  a pity  it  is 
that  my  Lefebvre  is  not  here,  he  could  advise  us.” 
Then  looking  at  La  Violette  she  said : “ Oh,  imbecile, 
if  only  you  could  have  an  idea!” 

But  as  it  happened,  “the  imbecile”  had  one,  and 
a very  good  one.  He  would  leave  the  women  in 
comparative  safety  in  their  hiding  here,  and  go  him- 
self to  the  French  camp,  get  the  boy,  and  bring  him 
hither  ere  midnight.  It  could  be  done. 

“By  a brave  man,  yes,”  said  Catherine;  “and  La 
Violette,”  she  added  kindly,  “you  are  brave.” 

La  Violette’s  idea  was  adopted.  Then  suddenly 
Blanche  insisted  on  accompanying  him. 

At  this  moment  the  Baron  de  Lowendaal  was 
awaiting  his  expected  bride  in  the  chapel  of  his  cha- 
teau, and  was  sending  his  servants  to  call  down 
Mile,  de  Laveline. 

The  women  heard  the  direction  given  by  the 


140 


MADAME  8AMS-GEME. 


baron,  and  they  saw  the  servants  with  lights,  prepar- 
ing to  execute  his  orders. 

^^Oh,  God!”  cried  Blanche  to  Catherine,  ‘‘I  am 
lost;  they  will  see  that  I have  gone.” 

‘^Everything  now  depends  on  gaining  time,  but 
how,  oh,  how?”  said  Catherine,  in  sore  perplexity. 

“Ah!”  she  exclaimed  striking  her  thigh,  as  usual 
when  pleased  with  herself,  “I  have  it.  It  is  sure, 
but  rather  risky.” 

“What  is  it,  in  heaven’s  name?”  cried  Blanche. 
“What  way  suggests  itself  to  you?  I am  willing 
to  undergo  any  risk  whatever.” 

“Oh,”  said  Catherine,  “the  danger  would  not  be 
to  you,  but  to  we.” 

“To  you?”  asked  Blanche;  “what can  you  mean?” 

“Why  this,”  answered  Catherine.  “It  would  per- 
haps be  best  for  you  to  go  away  now  with  La  Violette, 
if  only ” 

“If  only  what,  Catherine?” 

“If  only  some  one  should  stay  here  in  your  place, 
mademoiselle,  to  represent  you  to  the  baron.  That 
would  relieve  you  for  some  time  and  give  you  a 
chance,  at  least  until  the  baron  found  out  his  mis- 
take, which  he  would  soon  enough,  I warrant  me,” 
she  added. 

“Oh,  what  an  excellent  idea,”  said  Blanche  de 
Laveline,  almost  joyously.  “If  some  one  could  only 
make  up  like  a bride,  and  hide  her  face  like  a modest 
bride  should,  and  imitate  my  walk  and  gestures,  in 
short,  be  married  in  iny  stead,  why,  it  would  mean 
my  escape,  my  salvation.  But,”  she  added  gloomily, 
“what  is  the  good  of  a mere  idea  like  this?” 

“/  will  make  it  materialize,  mademoiselle,”  said 
Catherine.  “Come,  we  have  no  time  to  spare;  give 
me  your  cloak;  hasten  away,  the  baron  is  coming  for 
his  bride.” 

Catherine  wrapped  herself  quickly  and  deftly  in 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE, 


141 


Blanche’s  cloak,  while  Blanche,  having  wrapped  her- 
self in  a cape  she  carried  with  her,  followed  La  Vio- 
lette,  having  first  embraced  the  clever  and  courageous 
Catherine. 

As  for  La  Violette.  he  walked  as  if  on  air,  his  head 
seemed  in  the  clouds.  He  was  so  proud  of  his  new 
role  as  protector  of  a wandering  demoiselle. 

Catherine  watched  them  till  their  figures  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  night.  ‘‘They  are  safe  now,”  she 
said  to  herself,  “and  she  will  soon  see  her  boy.  But 
I,”  she  thought,  with  a sigh,  “shall  I ever  see  and 
hug  my  good  Lefebvre  once  more.  A woman  never 
knows  how  much  she  loves  a man  till  she  feels  that 
possibly  she  may  never  set  eyes  on  him  again.  Bah ! 
what’s  the  matter  with  me  to-night?”  recovering 
her  accustomed  nerve  and  spirits,  “of  course  I shall 
hug  my  man  again,  and  be  well  scolded  by  him,  as  I 
deserve.  But  I must  not  think  of  that  now,  I must 
try  to  play  my  new  role  as  a bride.  After  all  I ought 
to  play  bride  pretty  well;  it  is  not  so  very  long  ago 
since  I was  one.”  She  had  won  back  her  own  good 
humor,  and  she  really  began  to  take  a pleased  interest 
in  the  exciting  part  she  had  chosen  for  herself. 
“After  all,”  she  thought,  “every  woman,  even  a 
laundress,  or  a cantini^re,  is  a born  actress.” 

Humming  softly  a bar  of  the  Marseillaise,  she 
walked  bravely  on  toward  the  lighted  hall  where  the 
servants  were  gathered  after  supper.  She  stood  in  the 
doorway,  and  imitating  capitally  the  tones  of  Mile. 
Blanche’s  voice,  ordered  one  of  the  menials  to  tell 
Monsieur  le  Baron  that  Mile,  de  Laveline  awaited 
him  in  the  chapel. 

Having  delivered  herself  of  this  speech,  she  retired 
slowly,  and  (she  tried  her  best)  majestically.  “I 
couldn’t  really  do  better  if  I was  doing  the  duchess,” 
she  thought,  with  an  inward  smile. 

But  she  came  near  tripping  in  her  pride  of  state, 


142 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


perilonsly  near  slipping  and  falling  on  the  floor^  for 
mademoiselle’s  cloak  was  somewhat  too  long  for  the 
somewhat  short,  as  well  as  stout  cantiniere. 

As  she  neared  the  chapel  she  heard  voices.  The 
baron  said  inquiringly:  You  have  the  password, 
Leonard,  you  are  sure?” 

“Yes,”  she  heard  the  man  Leonard  say  in  reply  to 
the  implied  inquiry.  “I  managed  it;  I got  a 
courier  drunk  and  took  his  papers;  nothing  in  them 
important  save  the  orders  and  the  password.” 

“All’s  well  then,  Leonard,”  said  the  baron  in  a 
tone  of  satisfaction.  “While  I am  getting  married, 
do  you  run  to  the  Austrian  guards  to  warn  the  com- 
manding officer.” 

This  dialogue  had  made  Catherine  prick  her  ears; 
it  stirred  her  military  instincts.  “ Courier — password 
—orders — whose?  ours  perhaps.  I must  off  and  tell 
Lefebvre.  Treason  afoot.” 

She  turned  from  the  chapel,  then  returned  to  it. 
“No,  the  nearest  duty  must  come  first;  I am  here  to 
save  my  benefactress  by  personating  her.  This  is 
the  duty  of  this  hour;  next  hour,  if  all  is  well,  and  I 
escape  from  this  alive,  or  next  day,  maybe,  I will  tell 
Lefebvre  what  I have  heard  just  now.” 

She  entered  the  chapel,  walking  with  measured  step, 
and  looking  out  for  the  train  of  her  cloak.  Suddenly 
the  idea  occurred  to  her:  “What  if  the  baron  and 
this  Leonard  have  been  plotting  to  surprise  the 
French  camp  to-night,  surprise  the  Thirteenth  in 
their  sleep.  No,  no,  that  is  simply  impossible,” 
she  said  to  herself  assuringly.  “The  Thirteenth 
sleeps  with  one  eye  open,  and  no  ‘Kaiserlicks,’  even 
with  stolen  passwords,  will  be  allowed  to  get  within 
gunshot.” 

And  somewhat  calmed  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
two  armchairs,  placed  before  the  chapel  altar  for 
the  happy  couple. 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE. 


143 


The  priest  was  already  prepared  and  waiting  for 
the  ceremony  of  the  nuptial  mass;  he  was  meanwhile 
wrapt  in  his  devotions — he  was  praying  in  a corner, 
and  took  no  heed  of  her. 

Catherine  Sans-Gene,  who  was  now  once  more 
demonstrating  her  claim  to  her ‘‘don’t  care”  sobri- 
quet, quietly,  yet  keenly,  looked  round  about  the 
chapel,  in  which  she  was  so  soon  to  play  so  conspicu- 
ous a part. 

She  didn’t  like  its  appearance  at  all.  The  old  altar- 
pieces,  the  ornaments — such  as  they  were — the  little 
oil  lamp,  and  the  four  lighted  candles — she  sniffed  at 
them  all. 

“Bah!”  she  murmured,  “this  is  a fitter  place  for 
a funeral  than  a wedding.  How  much  longer  will  I 
have  to  wait,  I wonder.” 

Her  waiting  was  not  long.  The  chapel  door 
opened,  there  was  a noise  of  feet  and  a clink  of 
swords. 

Catherine,  to  keep  up  her  disguise  as  long  as  pos- 
sible, wrapped  her  person  completely  in  Blanche’s 
cloak,  and  kneeling  down  thereby  avoided  turning 
round. 

The  priest  rose  slowly,  bowed  twice  or  thrice,  ap- 
proached the  altar,  and  read  the  marriage  ritual  of 
the  church. 

The  baron  took  Catherine’s  hand.  “ I had  hoped,” 
he  said,  “to  have  led  you  hither  myself,  but  I appre- 
ciate your  modesty  and  timidity.”  Here  Catherine 
moved  slightly;  she  was  inwardly  agitated  with 
laughter. 

“Now  may  I take  my  place  at  the  side  of  my — my 
wife?”  he  asked. 

Catherine  did  not  speak  nor  stir. 

The  marquis  now  approached.  “I  am  glad  you 
have  come  to  your  senses,  daughter;  I congratulate 
you  on  being  reasonable,  at  least,”  the  marquis  said. 


144 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


Then  looking  at  his  supposed  daughter,  he  cried: 
‘^But  remove  your  cloak,  my  child,  you  cannot  marry 
in  a traveling  cloak;  that  comes  after  the  ceremony. 
Besides,”  he  added,  ‘‘you  must  do  honor  to  our  in- 
vited guests  and  witnesses,  to  the  Austrian  officers, 
whom  your  husband  has  invited  to  the  ceremony,  to 
the  officers  of  General  Clerfayt.” 

Hearing  this  name,  so  detested  by  every  true 
Frenchman  and  Frenchwoman  of  that  period,  Cath- 
erine at  once  complied  with  the  suggestion  of  the 
Marquis  de  Laveline.  She  cast  aside  her  traveling 
cloak,  and  stood  revealed  in  her  tricolored  skirt. 

The  marquis  and  the  baron  looked  on,  dumb  for  a 
moment  in  amazement.  “ This  is  not  my  daughter,” 
the  marquis  contrived  to  say  at  last. 

“This  is  not  the  woman  who  is  to  be  my  wife,” 
cried  the  baron,  white  with  anger.  “Who  are  you?” 
he  demanded  of  the  bogus  bride. 

The  chapel  became  a scene  of  wild  confusion. 

The  priest  endeavored  to  preserve  the  sanctity  of 
the  time  and  place.  He  looked  toward  the  cross, 
he  held  his  arms  outstretched,  he  uttered  the  sublime 
formula: 

Benedicat  vos^  omnipotens  Deus^  Dominus  volis- 

He  waited  for  the  answer  that  should  be  returned — 
Et  cum  spiritu 

But  the  confusion  was  too  general  for  any  one 
present  to  follow  the  ritual.  The  priest  withdrew. 
The  Austrian  officers,  who  had  just  arrived,  sur- 
rounded Catherine.  “She  is  a Frenchwoman,  she  is 
a cantiniere.  What  can  it  mean!”  The  wonder  of 
the  man,  who  uttered  these  words,  and  who  seemed 
to  be  in  command,  was  almost  comical. 

“You  are  right,  for  once,  even  if  you  are  aii  Aus- 
trian,” cried  Catherine,  addressing  this  personage. 
“I  am  a Frenchwoman  and  a cantiniere,  Catherine 


MADAME  SANS-UENE. 


145 


Lefebvre  of  the  Thirteenth  Light  Infantry,  not  at 
your  service.” 

‘^Eeally,”  continued  Madame  Sans-Gene,  abso- 
lutely enjoying  the  tumult  she  had  caused.  “This 
seems  to  be  too  much  for  you,  it  has  turned  your 
stomach,  my  lads.” 

She  was  ready  now  for  anythiiig— everything, 
anybody — everybody;  ready  to  laugh  in  the  face  of 
the  discomfited  bridegroom,  ready  to  bandy  words 
with  the  raging  marquis,  ready  to  snap  her  fingers 
at  the  Austrian  officers,  who,  seeing  her  bold  bear- 
ing, began  to  think  that  her  regiment  must  be  some- 
where near,  in  hiding  perhaps,  in  that  very  chapel, 
at  that  very  moment,  ready  to  sound  a bugle-call, 
or  a battle  cry,  and  to  rush  upon  them  from  that 
very  chapel,  under  the  protection  of  the  gods  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A DEBT  OF  GRATITUDE— THE  EVE  OF  BATTLE — THE 
WAR  SOKG  AND  THE  VICTORY. 

When  the  first  moment  of  surprise  was  over,  one 
of  the  Austrian  officers  seized  Catherine  by  the 
shoulder. 

“You  are  my  prisoner,  madame,”  he  said  sternly. 

“Prisoner,”  said  Catherine,  “why,  I am  not  fight- 
ing, but — but — ” she  was  at  a loss  for  a word, 
“visiting.” 

“Do  not  jest,  madame,”  replied  the  officer;  “you 
have  introduced  yourself  into  this  chateau,  of  which 
I have  taken  possession  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor 
of  Austria;  you  are  a French  citizen,  and  you  are  in 
Austrian  territory.  I arrest  you.” 

“That  is  not  at  all  gallant,”  cried  Catherine,  “ar- 
resting women.” 


146 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


You  are  a cantiniere,”  said  the  officer,  ‘‘connected 
with  the  French  army.” 

“True,  but  a woman  all  the  same.  Besides,  can- 
tinieres  are  not  soldiers,”  cried  Catherine. 

“You  are  not  taken  as  a soldier,”  said  the  officer, 
“but  as  a spy.”  Catherine’s  face  blanched  for  the 
first  time  at  this  word,  so  hateful  and  fatal  in  war- 
time, “spy.”  “Let  some  one  get  four  men  to  guard 
this  woman  till  she  has  been  tried,”  ordered  the 
officer. 

The  baron,  who  had  rushed  to  Blanche’s  room, 
now  returned  to  Catherine.  “Gentlemen,”  he  cried 
in  a voice  choked  with  wrath,  “this  woman  is  the 
accomplice  of  a flight.  She  has  aided  my  fiancee  in 
her  escape.  Where  is  Mile,  de  Laveline?”  he  asked 
furiously  of  Catherine. 

Catherine  laughed.  “Go  to  the  French  camp,” 
she  cried  to  the  baron,  “you  will  find  her  there.” 

The  marquis  whispered  to  the  baron:  “If  she  has 
gone  to  the  French  camp,  at  least  she  has  not  gone 
to  De  Ueipperg.” 

“But  nevertheless,”  asked  the  baron  wonderingly, 
“for  what  can  she  have  gone  to  the  French  camp?” 

“To  get  her  child,”  answered  Catherine  calmly. 

These  words  were  really  the  very  first  intimation 
that  either  the  baron  or  the  marquis  had  received  of 
Blanche’s  secret,  and  it  mystified  them  both,  as  well 
as  shocked  and  horrified  the  father. 

The  two  men  were  for  the  moment  dumb. 

“What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  woman?”  asked  at 
last  the  marquis,  like  a man  dazed. 

“ What  I say,”  answered  Catherine.  “ Your  daugh- 
ter has  gone  to  rejoin  her  child — little  Henriot — a 
lovely  little  cherub.  Oh,  he’s  far  better  looking 
than  any  child  of  yours  could  ever  be.  Monsieur  le 
Baron.” 

The  marquis  and  the  baron  strode  away,  each  full 
of  their  own  thoughts. 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


147 


The  baron’s  man,  Leonard,  had  heard  what  had 
been  said;  he  saw  now  that  any  hope  of  a hold  on 
the  Lady  Blanche  through  her  secret  was  over.  The 
child  was  no  longer  a secret,  but  he  resolved  to  go 
forthwith  to  the  French  camp;  he  had  the  stolen 
password.  ‘^Perchance  I may  still  do  something, 
make  something,”  he  said  to  himself.  “ We  shall 
meet  again,  my  lady,”  and  the  cunning  rogue  slipped 
away  unnoticed. 

“ Baron,”  said  the  Austrian  officer  who  had  arrested 
Catherine,  as  he  saw  Lowendaal  coming  his  way, 
“have  you  anything  to  say  to  this  prisoner  here?” 
pointing  to  Catherine. 

“No,  no,”  cried  the  baron  in  a fury.  “No,  no, 
take  her,  guard  her,  punish  her,  shoot  her,  but  find 
out  first  about  Mile,  de  Laveline  and  her — her 
child.” 

“We  shall  imprison  her  in  one  of  the  rooms  in 
your  chateau  till  to-morrow,”  replied  the  officer; 
“then  she  shall  be  questioned.” 

“No,”  cried  Catherine,  “for  by  to-morrow  the 
sdldiers  of  the  republic  will  be  in  possession  here, 
and  you  all  will  be  dead  or  captured.” 

“ Take  her  away,”  ordered  the  officer  to  the  guard ; 
“carry  her  away  if  she  resists.” 

The  guard  advanced  toward  Catherine. 

“Come  not  near  me,”  shouted  Catherine.  “The 
first  man  of  you  who  moves  is  dead,”  and  drawing 
from  her  belt  her  “two  bulldogs,”  her  pistols,  and 
aiming  af  the  men,  she  prepared  to  fire. 

“Advance!  seize  her!”  cried  the  officer;  “are  you 
afraid  of  a woman?” 

The  guard  approached  Catherine,  despite  her  pis- 
tols. She  was  about  to  keep  her  word  and  fire,  when 
through  the  darkness  and  near  the  chapel,  sounded 
the  roll  of  the  drum. 

“ Ah ! my  lads  of  the  Thirteenth,”  cried  Catherine, 
in  joy. 


148 


MADAME  SANS-GEME. 


“Ah!  the  French!”  cried  the  baron  in  dismay. 

The  Austrians  vanished,  the  baron  and  the  mar- 
quis hid  themselves  in  the  chapel,  where  the  priest 
onc^more  was  praying. 

TTie  drum  beat  louder  and  louder,  but  no  French 
troops  appeared,  only  La  Violette  entered,  beating 
a drum. 

It  was  now  Catherine’s  turn  to  be  astonished. 
“Where  is  your  regiment?”  she  asked. 

“Why,  in  the  camp,  of  course,”  answered  La  Vio- 
lette; “but  I got  back  here  Just  at  the  right  time  to 
help  you,  did  I not?”  he  added.  “But  let  us  close 
the  door  and  talk,”  he  suggested. 

He  locked  the  door  and  then  made  his  explana- 
tions. He  had  conducted  Mile,  de  Laveline  to 
the  French  camp,  but  midway  he  had  met  a pa- 
trol, led  by  Lefebvre  himself,  whereupon  La  Violette 
had  given  the  lady  into  his  charge,  and  seizing  a 
drum  (he  was  always  fond  of  the  sound  of  the  drum) 
had  returned  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  chateau 
and  Catherine.  Seeing  and  hearing  what  was  going 
on,  and  learning  in  what  trouble  the  woman  he  loved 
was  in,  the  idea  had  occurred  to  him,  of  frightening 
ofiE  Catherine’s  enemies  by  making  them  believe  that 
the  French  were  attacking  the  chateau,  an  idea  which 
he  had  carried  out  by  the  aid  of  a picked-up  drum. 

“It  was  cleverly  done,  my  brave  lad,”  said  Cath- 
erine to  La  Violette,  and  she  laughed  to  think  how 
one  drum  in  the  hands  of  a half-witted  fellow  bad 
frightened  off  noblemen,  officers  and  soldiers. 

“But  how  is  my  husband?”  she  asked  anxiously 
of  La  Violette. 

“Well;  and  more  anxious  about  you  than  you  can 
imagine,”  answered  La  Violette.  “He  will  keep  as 
near  you  as  possible,  and  at  my  signal — four  shots — ■ 
he  will  rush  to  your  assistance  with  his  men.” 

Suddenly  the  chateau  was  surrounded — by  a real 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


149 


regiment  this  time — and  not  French  but  Aus- 
trians. 

‘‘Open,  or  we  will  force  the  door,”  cried  a com- 
manding voice  outside. 

“Shall  I give  the  signal  to  Lefebvre,”  asked  La 
Violette  of  Catherine,  “shall  I fire  the  four  shots?” 

“No,”  she  answered;  “these  Austrians  now  are  too 
many  even  for  him,  my  husband.  We  must  wait 
and  tak""  advantage  of  events.  Meanwhile  open  the 
door,  then  let  us  hide  here  in  the  chapel.” 

La  Violette  obeyed  instructions. 

The  Austrian  soldiers  rushed  into  the  chapel  and 
soon  discovered  and  dragged  out  Catherine  and  La 
Violette. 

“ Colonel,”  said  one  of  the  Austrian  soldiers  to  a 
man  in  a richly  embroidered  cloak,  “shall  we  shoot 
this  man  and  this  woman  as  spies?  They  have  been 
adjudged  such.” 

“ I demand  that  we  be  treated  as  prisoners  of  war,” 
cried  Catherine  boldly. 

“A  woman,”  said  the  man  in  the  embroidered 
cloak,  looking  at  Catherine  coldly.  “Well,  as  they 
are  spies,  let  them  be  shot.” 

Again  Catherine  shouted,  interrupting  him : “We 
are  prisoners  of  war,  we  are  not  spies.” 

“Woman,”  said  the  man  in  the  cloak,  “how  can 
you  claim  to  be  a prisoner  of  war  when  the  battle  is 
not  yet  begun?” 

“Yes,  it  has  begun,”  cried  Catherine. 

“When?”  asked  the  man  in  the  cloak. 

“About  two  hours  ago,”  answered  Catherine. 

“And  by  whom?”  asked  the  man  in  the  cloak. 

“By  me,  by  us  two,”  Catherine  said,  pointing  to 
La  Violette. 

“This  is  mere  quibbling,”  cried  the  officer,  the 
Austrian  colonel.  “They  are  spies,”  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  his  men. 


150 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


‘‘We  are  tzo#,”  persisted  Catherine.  “Besides,” 
she  continued,  “you  have  no  right  to  shoot  us,  be- 
cause we  have  given  ourselves  up,  we  have  voluntarily 
surrendered.” 

The  man  in  the  cloak  shook  his  head  coldly. 

“Ah ! then,”  shduted  Catherine,  “take  care  of  your- 
selves, for  if  you  wrong  us  we  shall  be  avenged,  and 
at  once.  Expect  no  mercy  from  the  soldiers  of  the 
Thirteenth;  they  are  not  far  off,  nor  will  they  be 
slow  at  reaching  here.  My  husband,  who  is  a cap- 
tain, will  avenge  me,  will  avenge  us  both,  as  surely 
as  my  name  is  Catherine  Lefebvre.” 

The  man  whom  they  called  colonel,  the  command- 
ing officer,  the  man  in  the  cloak,  on  hearing  the 
words  “Catherine  Lefebvre,”  started  in  surprise. 
He  even  came  forward  a few  steps,  to  see  as  plainly 
as  he  could  in  the  semi-darkness  who  the  woman  was 
who  had  spoken  thus. 

“Are  you,  madame,  related  to  a certain  Lefebvre 
who  served  in  the  guard  at  Paris,  and  who  married 
a washerwoman  whom  they  called  Sans-Gene?”  he 
asked  with  a politeness  strongly  in  contrast  to  his 
previous  tone  and  manner. 

“ Sans-Gene,”  cried  Catherine,  astonished  beyond 
measure,  “that  is  the  name  they  have  given  me.  I 
am  the  washerwoman  you  refer  to,  and  Captain  Le- 
febvre is  my  husband.” 

The  colonel  was  strongly  agitated  at  this  statement 
of  Catherine’s.  He  advanced  closely  toward  her, 
made  a movement  as  though  about  to  take  her  by 
the  hand,  then  throwing  back  his  cloak,  raising  his 
head  and  looking  her  full  in  the  face,  he  asked  her: 
“Do  you  not  recognize  me?” 

Catherine,  still  more  surprised,  almost  startled, 
stepped  back,  saying  as  she  looked  at  the  officer:  “1 
think  I have  heard  your  voice  before,  and  your  fea- 
tures seem  familiar.  It  is  as  if  I had  even  seen  you 
dimly.” 


MADAME  8AN8-0ENE. 


151 


‘‘Yes,”  said  the  officer  softly,  almost  tenderly, 
“yes,  dimly,  through  the  smoke  of  cannon.  Have 
you  forgotten  the  tenth  of  August  in  Paris?” 

“The  tenth  of  August,”  cried  Catherine.  “Oh, 
now  I recollect,  you  are  the  Austrian  officer,  the 
wounded  man.” 

“Yes,”  said  the  officer,  now  all  smiles  and  softness; 
“I  am  the  Count  de  Neipperg,  whom  you  so  kindly 
rescued,  and  who  has  been  always  grateful.  Ah! 
madame,”  he  continued,  “let  me  embrace  you,  for 
to  you  I owe  my  life,”  and  he  advanced  with  open 
arms  toward  her. 

But  Catherine  Lefebvre  shrunk  back  from  him. 
“I  thank  you,  colonel,”  she  said,  “for  having  remem- 
bered me  so  fervently,  but  what  I did  for  you  that 
day,  I did  for  humanity.  You  were  unarmed  and 
wounded,  yet  hunted. down;  I protected  you,  as  best 
I could,  without  stopping  to  ask  under  what  flag 
you  were  wounded,  nor  why  you  fled,  but  that  was 
on  the  tenth  of  August.  To-day,”  she  continued, 
almost  sternly,  “I  find  you  wearing  the  uniform  of 
the  enemies  of  my  country,  commanding  soldiers 
who  are  the  foes  of  my  comrades,  the  invaders  of  my 
native  land.  Under  these  circumstances  I desire  to 
forget  what  happened  in  Paris.  I almost  feel  as  if  I 
merited  reproach  from  my  husband,  fi’om  my  friends, 
the  soldiers  of  my  regiment;  from  this  boy.  La  Vio- 
lette,  who  stands  here  beside  me,  a prisoner.  I feel 
as  if  I have  incurred  their  censure  by  having  saved 
your  life,  you  an  Austrian,  an  aristocrat,  a colonel 
who  would  order  his  men  to  shoot  people  like  this 
brave  lad”  (here  La  Violette,  listening,  seemed  to  ex- 
pand with  pride),  “and  myself — people  who  have 
given  themselves  up. 

“So,  colonel  and  count  as  you  may  be,”  concluded 
Catherine,  “speak  not  to  me  of  the  tenth  of  August; 
remind  me  not  that  I preserved  an  enemy.”  She 


153 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


placed  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  looked  scornfully 
upon  the  officer,  who  was  silent  awhile.  Catherine’s 
plain  speech,  delivered  with  her  usual  energy,  had 
affected  him  profoundly.  But  at  last  he  spoke  earn- 
estly, and  with  evident  sincerity: 

‘‘Catherine,  my  preserver,”  he  said,  “I  do  not 
deserve  your  reproaches.  You  serve  your  country, 
why  should  not  I serve  mine?  Why  should  I not 
fight  for  my  flag  as  your  brave  husband  fights  under 
his?  We  cannot  all  be  born  in  France.” 

His  questions  were  unanswerable,  his  statement  was 
a truism.  Catherine  inwardly  felt  that  De  Neipperg 
was  talking  sense,  but  she  would  have  died  ere  she 
confessed  as  much. 

He  continued:  “Do  not  thus  hate  me*  or  despise 
me,  Catherine.  You  may  choose  to  forget  the  tenth 
of  August,  but  I will  not,  for  I cannot,  and  as  colonel 

of  the  staff  of  the  imperial  and  victorious  army ” 

Not  yet  victorious,”  interrupted  Catherine. 

“It  will  be  so  to-morrow,”  he  continued;  “but  be 
this  as  it  may,  the  colonel  of  the  Empire  who  com- 
mands here,  has  not  forgotten  the  debt  he  contracted 
as  a soldier  in  the  Tuileries,  he  remembers  his  obli- 
gations as  the  wounded  man  of  the  laundry  at  Saint- 
Koche.” 

Then  making  a sign  to  the  guard  around  her  to 
release  her,  he  cried: 

“Catherine  Lefebvre,  you  are  free.” 

Catherine  advanced  and  shook  herself,  as  though 
getting  rid  of  imaginary  shackles.  “Thanks,  colo- 
nel,” she  said  simply  and  naturally. 

“But  La  Violette,”  she  added,  pointing  to  her  tall, 
thin  companion,  who  was  standing  as  erect  as  possi- 
ble, as  if  desirous  of  showing  his  valor  to  his  enemies. 
“Is  he  not  free  also?” 

“No,”  said  the  colonel  decidedly,  “ that  man  is  a 
soldier  and  an  enemy;  he  came  here  by  a stratagem — 
a trick — he  shall  be  shot  as  a spy.” 


MADAME  SANS~GENE. 


153 


‘‘Then  yon  will  have  to  shoot  me  with  him,”  said 
Catherine  Sans-G^ue.  She  said  this  in  her  ordinary 
tone,  as  if  being  shot  as  a spy  was  an  everyday  affair. 
“It  shall  not  be  reported  through  the  camp  that 
I,  Catherine  Lefebvre,  cantiniere  of  the  Thirteenth 
Light,  left  a brave  lad  to  be  killed  by  the  Austrians, 
who  but  for  me  would  never  have  been  a prisoner. 
So,  colonel,  give  your  orders,  and  oblige  me  by  being 
quick  about  it;  one  don’t  want  to  Avait  too  long 
when  one  is  to  be  killed;  I am  not  here  for  fun. 
There  is  nothing  amusing  in  the  thought  of  taking  a 
number  of'shots  into  one’s  body,  when  one  is  young, 
and  when  one  loves  one’s  husband.  My  poor  Lefebvre ! 
He  will  grieve.  But  such  is  war!” 

“Pardon  me,  colonel,”  now  piped  La  Violette,  in 
his  shrill  childish  treble.  “I  beg  that  you  will  shoot 
me,  but  me  only — I deserve  to  be  shot;  but  Madame 
Lefebvre  here  has  done  nothing.  She  came  to  bring 
a lady  news  about  her  child ” 

“A  child!  loJiat  child?”  exclaimed  the  colonel  ex- 
citedly. “My  God!  I remember  now,  you  were”  (to 
Catherine)  “entrusted  with  her  child;  you  were  to 
bring  that  child ” 

“To  Jemmapes;  yes,  monsieur,”  said  Catherine. 

“Good  woman!  brave  heart!”  cried  De  Neipperg, 
looking  volumes  of  gratitude  at  Catherine;  “what 
you  have  risked  for  me  and  mine!  But  where  is  our 
child?” 

“With  its  mother,  safe  in  the  French  camp,”  an- 
swered Catherine.  “Mademoiselle  Blanche  has  fled 
to  avoid  a marriage  with  a baron.  She  preferred  a 
count,”  looking  at  De  Neipperg.  “And  it  Avas  La 
Violette  here,  who  conducted  mademoiselle  to  the 
French  camp.” 

“Ah ! then,”  said  De  Neipperg,  now  looking  kindly 
on  La  Violette,  whom  but  a few  moments  before  he 
had  frowned  upon  as  a spy,  “ I see  I must  free  La 


154 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


Violette  as  well.  Catherine,  once  more  I tell  yon, 
you  are  free.  Go,  and  take  your  comrade  with  yon. 
I shall  send  two  men  to  accompany  you  to  the  out- 
posts. You  will  see  Blanche,  tell  her  I love  and 
long  for  her  more  than  ever;  tell  her  I will  wait  for 
her  after  the  battle  on  the  road  to  Paris ” 

“You  mean  Brussels,”  saucily  interrupted  Cather- 
ine Sans-Gene. 

Neipperg  continued,  not  noticing  her  sally:  “Has- 
ten away,  Madame  Lefebvre.  Catherine,  use  what 
remains  of  the  night  to  regain  your  camp,  and  be- 
lieve me  I do  not  yet  consider  my  debt  of  gratitude 
as  paid  in  full.  I shall  ever  be  in  your  debt,  but  per- 
haps some  day,  I may  be  able  to ” 

“Pshaw!”  cried  Catherine,  interrupting  him,  “we 
are  quits,  I tell  you,  or  rather,  I owe  you  something 
for  La  Violette.  Come,  you  tall  boy,  march!”  she 
almost  shouted  to  La  Violette,  who  departed  like  a 
whole  army  in  martial  state. 

As  for  Catherine  Sans-G4ne,  with  her  hands  on 
her  hips,  her  cocked  hat,  and  her  tricolored  cockade, 
she  went  out  defying  the  Austrians. 

As  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  chapel,  she 
turned  and  said:  Au  revoir^  gentlemen,  I shall 
return  before  noon  with  Captain  Lefebvre  and  his 
sharpshooters.” 

Neipperg  watched  with  anxiety  the  departure  of 
Catherine.  He  wondered  if  he  would  ever  really,  as 
the  brave  cantiniere  had  implied,  see  Blanche  and 
hi^  little  son  once  more?  How  could  she,  a young 
girl  with  a child,  escape  danger  in  the  very  midst  of 
hostile  armies?  But  one  joy  at  least  was  his^  the 
marriage  plotted  by  the  baron  and  the  marquis  had 
not  yet  taken  place.  Blanche  was  free,  and  might 
one  day  be  his  before  the  world.  He  looked  about 
him  for  Lowendaal  and  Monsieur  de  Laveline,  but 
neither  were  to  be  found.  On  inquiry  he  was  told 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


K5 

that  the  pair  had  taken  conveyance  to  Brussel?. 
Neipperg  was  for  the  time  comparatively  content^ 
yefc  two  questions  still  troubled  him : Bow  could  he 
meet  Blanche?  how  could  he  see  his  child? 

The  battle  was  about  to  begin,  he  m^pt  await  its 
results.  Surely  the  mob  of  volunteers  forming  the 
republican  army  could  not  cope  with  the  veteran 
soldiers  forming  the  imperial  army.  But  even  if 
the  French  were  routed,  what  might  not  happen  to 
Blanche  and  to  the  child?  The  reflection  caused 
him  anguish. 

Suddenly  a confusion  near  him  arrested  his  atten- 
tion. He  asked  its  cause,  and  was  told  that  a wild- 
looking young  woman,  with  torn  dress  and  disheveled 
hair  had  been  caught  attempting  to  enter  the  cha- 
teau. She  claimed  to  be  the  daughter  of  the  Mar- 
quis de  Laveline;  she  had  been  arrested  and  taken  in 
charge  by  the  sentinels. 

Neipperg  was  startled,  and  his  heart  began  to  beat 
fast.  Could  this  woman  be  Blanche  at  the  chateau, 
when  Catherine  Lefebvre  had  just  assured  him  that 
Blanche  was  in  the  French  camp?  Yet  the  woman 
was  really  Blanche  de  Laveline,  her  dress  disordered 
by  the  brambles  and  bushes  she  had  passed  through 
in  the  flelds.  Her  lover  rushed  to  her  and  embraced 
her  passionately.  Fate,  as  often  happens,  had  in  the 
most  unexpected  manner,  relieved  ) irn  from  one  of 
his  anxieties;  he  saw  Blanche  again. 

Amid  tears  and  smiles  she  explained  her  appear- 
ance. She  had  reached  the  French  camp  in  safety, 
escorted  by  Lefebvre’s  soldiers.  She  had  found  the 
canteen  of  the  Thirteenth  Light  Infantry,  and  had 
found  there  a sleeping  child.  She  clasped  the  little 
sleeper  in  her  arms,  when  by  the  light  of  the  lantern 
carried  by  one  of  her  soldier  guides,  she  saw  that  the 
child  was  not  her  boy;  it  was  a girl,  who,  when  she 
at  last  understood  the  now  distracted  mother’s  ques- 


156 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


tions,  told  her  that  ‘‘Henriot  was  not  here;  he  must 
have  gone  to  see  them  shooting  off  the  cannons,”  add- 
ing in  her  childish  treble,  “He  is  a bad  boy  because 
he  didn’t  wake  me  up  too,  to  go  with  him.” 

A inomAit  later  a passing  soldier  told  her  that  he 
had  seen  a man,  in  a civilian’s  dress,  fleeing  with  a 
child,  in  the  direction  of  the  town  of  Maubeuge. 
From  the  vague  description  given,  the  mother’s  in- 
stinct told  her  that  this  child  was  hers,  and  that 
some  villain,  for  some  purpose,  had  stolen  him. 

Her  instinct  proved  to  be  correct.  The  ambulance 
surgeon,  named  Marcel,  was  informed  by  a sergeant, 
named  Kenee,  that  a former  orderly  of  General  Beau- 
repairehad  recognized  a servant  of  the  Baron  de  Low- 
endaal,  named  Leonard,  in  the  French  camp  that 
night,  and  had  seen  him  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Catherine’s  canteen. 

Blanche  at  once  understood  all.  This  Leonard, 
whom  she  had  foolishly  trusted,  was  a scoundrel,  and 
had  stolen  her  child  to  make  capital  out  of  him  with 
the  Baron  de  Lowendaal,  who,  having  the  child, 
would  once  more  have  the  mother  in  his  power. 

And  then  with  almost  superhuman  strength,  the 
mother  at  once  started  back  to  the  baron’s  chateau 
to  retake  her  child.  She  had  a terrible  passage  back ; 
she  was  occasionally  compelled  to  hide  among  rushes 
and  reeds;  she  was  forced  to  wade  streams,  her  feet 
were  bleeding,  her  clothes  were  torn,  but  she  pressed 
on  toward  the  baron’s  chateau,  to  confront  the  man 
who  had  stolen  her  child.  And  even  now,  amid  her 
joy  to  find  herself  with  the  man  she  loved  best  in  all 
the  world,  was  mingled  sorrow  that  she  was  destined 
to  find  here  neither  Leonard,  the  baron  nor  her  little 
Henriot. 

Then  Neipperg  told  Blanche  how  the  baron  and 
the  marquis  had  gone  to  Brussels,  and  assured  her 
that  “AVe  will  catch  them  and  the  scoundrelly  Leon- 
ard to-morrow.” 


MADAME  SAN  8-GENE. 


157 


‘‘But  to-morrow  is  not  cried  the  mother, 

“why  not  go  after  them  to-night 

“To-morrow,”  answered  Neipperg,  “I  must  go  to 
battle;  first  I help  to  defeat  the  French,  then  I find 
our  child.  My  duty  as  a soldier  must  take  prece- 
dence even  of  my  sorrow  as  a father.” 

Blanche  sighed,  but  submitted.  It  is  woman’s 
way. 

Then,  for  a moment  forgetting  the  child,  Neijj- 
perg  thought  of  his  love  and  duty  toward  the  woman. 

“Blanche,”  he  said,  “you  are  my  wife  in  my  sight 
and  the  sight  of  heaven.  Why  not  seize  this  opportu- 
nity to  become  my  wife  in  the  sight  of  the  world? 
You  owe  me  a higher  duty  than  even  your  obedience 
to  your  father;  you  must  place  an  insurmountable 
obstacle  between  yourself  and  that  odious  baron;  you 
must  marry  me  here  to-night.  Will  you  not,  my 
loife 

And  with  smiles,  blushes,  tears,  and  an  embrace, 
the  wife  consented  to  marry  her  husband. 

“All  has  for  some  time  been  ready  for  your  mar- 
riage to  this  Lowendaal,”  said  Neipperg  to  Blanche; 
“you  have  now  but  to  marry  your  Neipperg  instead. 
The  priest  is  still  at  the  altar,  the  notary  is  still  at 
the  chateau  asleep;  we  will  wake  him  instantly  and  he 
can  change  the  name  of  the  bridegroom  while  the 
priest  pronounces  the  nuptial  benediction.  It  is  a 
change  for  the  better,  and  is  easily  made.  Come, 
sweetheart,  and  make  me,  already  the  happiest  of 
lovers,  the  proudest  of  husbands.” 

An  hour  later,  in  the  chapel  where  Catherine  Sans- 
Gene  had  played  the  bride,  Blanche  de  Laveline, 
became  the  Countess  de  Neipperg. 

Scarcely  was  the  ceremony  over  when  a volley  of 
musketry  gave  notice  that  the  battle  was  begun. 

Trumpet-calls  were  heard,  the  drums  beat  to 
arms. 


158 


MADAME  SANS-GEME. 


But  the  Count  de  Neipperg  calmly,  proudly  con- 
ducted Blanche  toward  a group  of  Austrian  officers. 

“Gentlemen,”  he  said,  “I  wish  to  present  to  you 
the  Countess  de  Neipperg,  my  wife.” 

The  officers  bowed  profoundly  and  all  invoked 
blessings  on  this  marriage,  on  the  eve  of  a great  bat- 
tle in  a chapel  which  now  became  transformed  into  a 
fortress  from  which  volleys  of  cannon-shot  thundered 
instead  of  the  peal  of  wedding  bells. 


The  spectators  on  the  crest  of  Jemmapes,  on  the 
ever-memorable  morning  of  November  6,  1792  (the 
Belgians  whom  the  empire  oppressed,  and  whom  the 
republic  freed),  witnessed  a majestic  and  never-to- 
be-forgotten  sight  over  the  hills. 

The  dawn  rose  pale  and  gray,  while  a light  wind 
bent  the  tree  tops  and  rustled  the  dry  leaves. 

The  Austrians,  Hungarians  and  Prussians,  in  vast 
numbers,  held  the  heights.  The  hussars,  with  their 
furred  coats;  the  grenadiers  with  their  tall  bonnets; 
the  infantry  with  their  semi-conical  caps;  lances, 
cavalry  sabers  glistened,  shone,  twinkled  in  the  light 
of  that  autumn  morn. 

Below  were  the  Tyrolese  sharpshooters,  behind 
redoubts,  while  the  artillery  was  ready  for  its  fatal 
work. 

The  advantage  of  position  was  with  the  well-fed 
Austrian  army.  The  French  were  badly  located, 
and  were  absolutely  hungry,  but  the  volunteers 
promised  themselves  a dinner  after  they  had  defeated 
the  Austrians.  They  sang  the  Marseillaise  in  chorus ; 
the  song  stirred  them  to  victory,  and  then  they  rushed 
in  a flood  upon  the  foe. 

The  battle  of  Jemmapes  was  a hurricane.  Only 
the  bayonet  and  the  cannon  were  used. 

The  old  Imperial  forces  were  absolutely  cut  to 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


159 


pieces  or  shot  into  nothingness,  by  raw  young  repub- 
lican heroes. 

The  Parisian  recruits  behaved  magnificently. 
They  carried  three  redoubts;  they  routed  the  superb 
Imperial  dragoons;  they  were  commanded  by  Gen- 
eral Dampierre. 

Generals  d’Harville,  Dumouriez,  Ferrand,  Beurnon- 
ville,  Thevenot,  shared  the  honors  of  the  day. 

Lieutenant  Philip  Bgalite  (afterward  King  Louis 
Phillippe)  was  in  the  battle,  but  his  troops  were  led 
to  victory  by  another  Frenchman,  a common  soldier, 
formerly  the  valet  of  General  Dumouriez,  by  name 
Baptiste  Kenard.  Lefebrve  fought  like  a tiger. 

The  battle  was  one  of  the  many  great”  French 
victories.  It  preserved  France  from  the  invaders,  it 
obliterated  old  Germany,  it  saved  Belgium.  It  was 
the  new  republic’s  ‘‘Baptism  of  Fire.”  , 

The  battle  over,  the  victors  took  to  eating  and 
drinking;  they  were  very  hungry  and  very  dry. 
Too  late  for  dinner  they  took  supper,  and  as  they 
feasted,  they  gossiped  over  the  incidents  of  the  battle. 
Catherine  Lefebvre,  brave,  bustling  and  good  hu- 
mored as  ever,  listened,  and  told  some  stories  of  her 
own  adventures. 

One  of  the  soldiers  spoke  of  a little  child  that  had 
been  found  shut  up  in  a room  in  the  Chateau  de 
Lowendaal,  which  had  been  held  by  the  Austrians, 
but  had  now  fallen  into  the  possession  of  the 
French. 

Catherine  listened  intently;  she  felt  sure  that  this 
child  was  the  missing  Henriot,  whose  mysterious 
absence  weighed  upon  her  spirits  deeply,  despite  of 
all  her  natural  “high  spirits.” 

“A  man  fled  when  we  found  the  child,”  said  the 
soldier  who  had  given  the  information. 

“Ah!  it  was  that  wretch,  Leonard,  I am  sure,” 
said  Catherine;  “you  shot  him,  of  course.” 


160 


MADAME  SANS-GEYE. 


Nay,  he  escaped.” 

Sacre  hleii!  but  where  did  you  take  the  child? 
You  did  not  leave  him,  I hope.” 

‘‘I  was  obliged  to  do  so.  In  escaping,  the  man  set 
fire  to  a barrel  of  powder.  We  could  not  stay  after 
that,  could  we?”  said  the  soldier. 

Catherine  did  not  deign  to  anwser;  she  turned  to 
the  group  around  her. 

‘‘Friends,  comrades,”  she  said,  “you  have  kind 
hearts,  let  us  go  now  and  look  for  that  little  child 
left  alone  in  the  ruins;  perhaps  he  still  lives.” 

No  one  stirred  or  said  a word,  but  all  went  on 
eating  and  drinking. 

“Well,  don’t  speak  all  at  once,”  cried  Catherine^ 
finding  no  one  spoke  at  all. 

“I  am  wounded,”  now  said  one;  “I  haven’t  fin- 
ished the  soup,”  said  another;  “I  must  get  myself 
into  condition  for  more  fighting,”  said  a third. 

While  the  fourth,  who  had  found  and  left  the 
child,  gro\yled  out  that  “There  might  be  more  pow- 
der barrels  to  burst,  and  that  after  all,  a child,  espe- 
cially when  it  is  somebody  else’s  child,  ain’t  worth 
risking  one’s  skin  for.” 

“I  am  going  anyway,”  cried  Catherine,  “even  if 
I go  alone.  My  husband  is  busy  at  the  outposts, 
and  you  are  cowards,”  she  hissed  the  word  at  them. 
“I  promised  the  child’s  mother  to  take  care  of  him, 
and  I shall  keep  my  word.  So  eat,  drink,  and  then 
sleep,  children.”  (“You  hogs,”  she  added,  sotto 
voce)^  “good-night,  (go  to  the  devil),”  she  added, 
under  her  breath. 

Eenee,  the  handsome  sergeant,  now  arose  from  the 
group.  “Madame  Lefebvre,”  he  said,  “I  will  go 
with  you.  Two  are  more  courageous  than  one.” 

“And  three  more  brave  than  two,”  squeaked  La 
Violette,  likewise  rising.  The  latter  carried  a scab- 
bardless sword,  and  his  uniform  was  full  of  sword- 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


161 


cuts;  he  wore  a captain’s  cap,  taken  from  the  head 
of  an  Austrian  officer  whom  he  had  killed. 

Brave  boy,”  said  Catherine.  She  had  already 
begun  to  like  and  to  respect  her  boy -lover;  she  now 
learned  to  respect  and  like  him  even  more. 

The  handsome  sergeant  stood  still  a moment  as  if 
waiting  for  some  one  to  join  them.  The  ‘‘some  one” 
came;  he  wa§  Dr.  Marcel.  Catherine  was  somewhat 
surprised  at  Ms  appearance,  but  Eenee  wasn’t. 

“A  doctor  is  the  very  man  we  need  now,”  he  (she) 
said. 

“The  child  may  be  hurt,”  suggested  La  Violette, 
“let  the  doctor  go  with  us.” 

And  the  doctor  went.  So  La  Violette  and  Cath- 
erine led  the  way,  followed  by  Eenee  and  Marcel, 
who  exchanged  a kiss  in  the  dark. 

The  fields  were  full  of  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
piles  of  debris  and  broken  weapons  were  to  be  found 
everywhere.  There  is  nothing  more  terrible  than  a 
battlefield  after  a battle. 

But  amid  all  the  horrors  of  war  little  Henriot  was 
found  safe.  There  was  little  need  of  any  doctor; 
the  child  was  weak  but  well,  and  as  glad  to  see  Cath- 
erine as  Catherine  was  glad  to  see  him. 

Marcel  tended  to  his  little  scratches,  and  he  was 
soon  his  lively,  playful  self  once  more.  Brought 
back  to  the  French  camp  the  lad,  saved  on  the  field 
of  battle,  was  adopted  by  “the  Thirteenth  Light.” 
He  became  “ the  child  of  the  regiment.” 


162 


MADAME  SAJSfS-GENE. 


BOOK  THIRD. 

THE  MATRIMONIAL  ADVEN- 
TURES  OF  NAPOLEON  AND 
JOSEPHINE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  STAR  OF  DESTINY  RISES — AlsD  THE  MAN  OF 
DESTINY  FALLS  IN  LOVE. 

Toulon,  like  Lyons,  Marseilles,  Bordeaux  and 
Caen,  became  a resort  for  traitors.  The  Royalists 
and  the  Girondists  opened  the  gates,  alike  of  the 
arsenal  and  the  town,  to  the  allies. 

All  the  poetical  charm  which  clings  round  the 
Girondists  cannot  absolve  them  of  the  crime  of  trea- 
son to  their  country. 

By  good  luck  the  cannons  of  the  republic  were 
entrusted  at  this  juncture  to  the  then  comparatively 
obscure  artillery  officer,  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

What  seemed  to  be  mere  chance  had  given  Bona- 
parte this  place.  On  a trip  from  Avignon  to  Nice 
he  stopped  at  Toulon  to  see  his  comrade,  Salicetti. 
This  personage  introduced  him  to  Commander  Car- 
teaux,  whom  in  a short  period  Bonaparte  surperseded, 
having  impressed  the  republican  representatives  with 
his  superior  qualifications  for  the  post. 


MADAME  SANS^QENE. 


163 


Napoleon  was  now  twenty-four  years  of  age,  and 
began  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  to  think  well  of 
himself.  His  night  of  despair  was  over,  the  day  was 
dawning,  a reaction  had  taken  place;  he  began  to 
dream  of  greatness. 

And  the  very  first  thing  he  did  with  his  good  for- 
tune was  to  use  it  to  advance  the  personal,  social  and 
matrimonial  interests  of  his  family.  He  was  com- 
pletely satisfied  with  Joseph  Bonaparte’s  marriage, 
already  alluded  to.  In  fact  Napoleon  envied  Joseph’s 
luck.  He  often  remarked  ‘‘that  Joseph  is  a lucky 
fellow.  It  is  a great  thing  to  marry  a rich  soap 
manufacturer’s  daughter,”  and  such  he  regarded  it 
at  that  time. 

And  for  several  years  Napoleon  really  and  sincerely 
regretted  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  win  as  a wife 
Mile.  Desiree,  soapmaker  Clary’s  second  daughter, 
previously  referred  to. 

But  even  his  own  ill-luck  in  this  case  annoyed  him 
less  than  an  unfortunate  affair  in  which  his  brother 
Lucien  was  concerned. 

This  matrimonial  faux-pas  of  Lucien  was  one  of 
the  sore  points  in  Napoleon’s  career,  a thorn  in  his 
side.  He  did  not  get  over  the  annoyance  for  ten 
years. 

Lucien  was  good  but  rather  weak,  and  through 
his  brother’s  influence  got  a modest  post  in  the  mili- 
tary administration,  and  had  just  sense  and  merit 
enough  to  keep  it,  but  no  more. 

He  was  very  fluent  in  speech,  though  like  many 
weak  natures,  quite  a tavern  orator,  very  fiery  in  his 
language,  good-looking,  and  withal  precisely  the  sort 
of  man  to  captivate  a certain  sort  of  woman — such  a 
woman  for  example  as  the  pretty,  but  rather  coarse 
daughter  of  the  restaurant  keeper  at  whose  establish- 
ment the  young  orator  took  his  meals. 

The  inn-keeper’s  name  was  Boyer,  and  he  was^^ 


164 


MADAME  SAm-GEME. 


quite  well-to-do  in  his  way.  The  daughter  was  qnite 
a belle  too  in  her  own  circle.  She  used  to  wait  upon 
her  father’s  customers,  and  thus  she  often  listened 
enchanted  to  the  eloquence  of  the  young,  ardent, 
and  handsome  Lucien  Bonaparte. 

Lucien  soon  noticed  that  the  young  girl  liked  him, 
and  this  of  course  made  him  feel  very  favorably  dis- 
posed toward  the  young  girl.  But  she  was  more  in 
love  than  he  was,  and  despite  the  conventional 
modesty  of  young  French  girls  before  marriage,  the 
mademoiselle  made  most  of  the  advances,  and  finally 
told  Papa  Boyer  that  she  was  resolved  to  have  Mon- 
sieur Lucien  for  a husband. 

Papa  Boyer  had  formed  other  plans  for  the  dis- 
posal of  his  daughter’s  hand,  but  he  knew  his  place. 
He  was  a dutiful  father — more  after  the  American 
pattern  than  the  French — and  when  his  daughter 
declared  her  intentions  he  bowed  before  her  will, 
and  prepared  to  receive  Lucien  as  a son-in-law. 

He  had  one  comfort.  Papa  Boyer;  he  would  now 
get  rid  of  the  annoyance  of  presenting  Monsieur 
Lucien  every  week  with  a bill,  which  he  always  put 
off  paying  till  the  next  week,  and  didn’t  pay  then. 
If  Lucien  owed  him  any  more  money  after  he  mar- 
ried his  daughter,  why  it  would  be  all  in  the  family, 
and  wouldn’t  matter.  So  Boyer  had  made  the  best 
of  a bad  bargain. 

But  Napoleon  did  not  resemble  Boyer  in  this  re- 
spect, nor  in  any  other.  When  he  discovered  that 
he  was  to  have  an  inn-keeper’s  daughter  for  a sister- 
in-law,  he  was  simply  furious.  Already  he  was 
beginning  to  foresee  his  future  greatness,  and  was 
seriously  enraged  with  any  act  of  his  family  which 
could  injure  his  fortune  (and  theirs)  or  lessen  his 
influence  or  renown. 

So  he  quarreled  with  his  brother,  and  severed  all 
(trtelations  with  him  for  awhile. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


165 


And  he  never  forgave  the  innkeeper’s  daughter, 
Christine  Boyer,  whose  only  fault  had  been  that  sha 
loved  his  brother. 

She  was  sweet-tempered,  however,  and  resigned, 
though  she  made  several  attempts  in  vain  to  appease 
Napoleon,  and  gain  his  good  will. 

One  touching  letter  written  by  her  is  preserved. 
It  was  written  when  she  was  about  to  become  a 
mother. 

‘^Permit  me,”  she  wrote,  ‘^to  call  you  brother. 
According  to  your  decree,  I fled  from  France  and 
came  to  Germany.  Within  one  month,  I hope  to 
present  you  a nephew,  for  I feel  that  it  is  to  be  a 
boy.  I promise  you,  he  shall  be  a soldier;  but  I 
want  him  to  have  your  name,  and  be  your  godson. 
Do  not  refuse  me.  You  will  not  disclaim  us  for  our 
poverty,  for  you  are  really  our  brother,  and  will  be 
the  uncle  of  my  children.  We  love  you  better  than 
fortune.  May  I some  day  be  able  to  prove  all  my 
tender  affection  for  you.” 

But  Napoleon  remained  deaf  to  the  appeal.  Ha 
kept  the  tavern  keeper’s  daughter  out  of  his  heart 
forever. 

He  was  ashamed  of  the  woman  because  he  feared 
to  present  her  to  some  other  woman,  no  better,  but 
greater — as  the  world  , counts  greatness.  He  was 
always  dreaming  of  a wife  and  relatives,  who  should 
flatter  his  vanity. 

But  about  the  time  that  Lucien  married  Christine 
Boyer,  Bonaparte’s  own  personal  affairs  reached  a 
crisis. 

He  had  lost  his  protectors;  the  two  Kobespierres 
had  been  guillotined. 

An  insignificant  artillery  captain,  named  Aubry, 
had  been  appointed  minister  of  war.  He  had  hated 
the  Kobespierres,  and  hated  Bonaparte  as  their 
friend;  he  was  also  envious  of  Napoleon’s  rapid  rise 


166 


MADAME  I^ANS~GENE. 


in  favor.  So  he  sent  him  away  where  he  would  have 
no  further  chance  to  distinguish  himself.  Napoleon 
refused  to  go  where  he  was  sent,  and  was  therefore 
dismissed  from  the  army. 

In  the  rage  of  desperation,  Napoleon  offered  him- 
self and  sword  to  the  Sultan  of  Turkey;  the  East 
had  always  attracted  him.  One  side  of  his  nature, 
as  fatalist  and  dreamer,  was  thoroughly  oriental. 

Perhaps  he  would  meet  some  glorious,  dark-eyed 
woman  there,  who  would  satisfy  alike  his  body  and 
his  soul.  If  his  brother  Joseph  had  not  at  this 
period  come  to  his  assistance,  Constantinople  and 
not  Paris  might  have  been  the  capital  of  a Napoleonic 
empire. 

Finally  his  opportunity  came.  A decison  of  the 
Convention  caused  an  insurrection  in  Paris.  A gen- 
eral was  needed  in  Menou’s  place,  who  had  b^een 
defeated  by  the  mob.  On  the  night  of  the  insur- 
rection Bonaparte  was  at  the  Feydeau  theater.  He 
went  at  once  to  the  Assembly,  where  the  man  of  the 
hour,  Barras,  appointed  him  General  of  the  Interior. 

He  was  in  power  now,  and  his  power  could  not  be 
taken  from  him.  Yesterday  poor  and  without  re- 
sources, he  was  to-day  the  master  of  Paris,  aye,  the 
master  of  the  nation. 

His  star,  which  had  for  years  by  turns  been  dim 
and  bright,  now  shone  with  a steady  and  clear  light 
from  above.  It  was  destined  to  bo  a dazzling  beacon 
light  throughout  France  and  Europe  for  twenty  years. 

Fortune  had  indeed  smiled  suddenly  upon  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte. 

An  utterly  unexpected  and  resistless  sweep  had 
placed  him  on  the  very  pinnacle. 

Hitherto,  despite  his  conceded  military  talent,  and 
the  praise  he  had  received  from  men  of  position  and 
influence,  his  name  had  been  comparatively  unknown 
and  his  position  uncertain  and  precarious. 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


167 


But  the  insurrection  of  October  3,  1795,  had 
broken  out,  and  brought  him  to  the  front. 

Thanks  to  Barras,  and  to  Freron  (who  had  already 
met  Pauline  Bonaparte  the  beauty  of  the  family, 
and  was  about  to  propose  to  her),  he  was  appointed 
to  command,  spite  of  the  opposition  of  Carnot. 

For  a few  'moments  Napoleon  himself  had  even 
hesitated  to  accept  the  dazzling  chance  thus  offered 
him ; he  would  be  assuming,  with  great  power,  still 
greater  responsibility.  It  would  be  civil  war  that  he 
would  be  compelled  to  face — a war  of  Frenchmen 
against  Frenchmen — of  Parisians  against  Parisians; 
if  he  failed  his  life  would  be  forfeited,  his  name  exe- 
crated. He  was  not  made  for  civil  wars,  and  besides 
the  line  of  his  sympathies  carried  him  to  a certain 
length  with  the  insurrectionists  themselves.  They 
wanted  what  he  had  always  professed  to  worship, 
Liberte^  Egalite^  Fraternite.  And  they  demanded 
the  resignation  of  all  incompetent  and  corrupt  office- 
holders. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  refused  the  position 
thus  offered  him,  he  lost  his  chance  in  life.  Such 
opportunities  come  not  twice  to  any  man;  and  as  for 
his  country,  the  Convention  with  all  its  faults  was 
better  than  no  Convention  at  all.  Ita  rule — any  rule 
— was  safer  than  that  of  the  mob.  There  had  been 
too  much  already  of  the  mob  in  Paris — true  liberty 
demands  law.  The  defeat  of  the  Convention  by  the 
insurrectionists  now  would  neutralize  all  the  glorious 
successes  of  the  French  army,  at  Jemmapes  and  else- 
where. The  ruin  of  the  Convention  would  mean 
the  ruin  of  France.  His  first  duty  as  a good  citizen 
was  to  uphold  the  Convention,  to  defend  established 
government  even  if  administered  by  iiicapables. 

So  lifting  his  head  Napoleon  said  to  Barras: 
accept  the  command,  but  I solemnly  warn  you  that 
my  sword,  once  drawn,  returns  not  to  its  scabbard 


168 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


until  order  is  universally  and  completely  re-estab- 
lished.’’ 

The  next  day  he  assumed  his  new  position  and  was 
respectfully  saluted,  among  others,  by  the  mistress  of 
Barras,  Madame  Tallien,  who  always  worshiped  the 
rising  sun. 

Napoleon,  even  in  his  pride  of  new-found  power, 
almost  blushed  when  he  acknowledged  the  salute  of 
Madame  Tallien.  For  he  remembered  that  a few 
days  before  he  had  gone  almost  humbly,  almost 
timidly,  to  this  woman  to  solicit  her  influence  and 
her  aid  with  Barras. 

He  had  no  money  in  his  pocket  then,  and  only  soiled 
clothes  on  his  back,  and  he  wore  long  hair,  parted  in 
the  middle,  and  unpowdered  (because  he  could  not  pay 
a hairdresser).  His  boots  were  cracked,  and  he  bad 
inked  his  stockings,  so  that  they  would  not  show 
between  the  cracks.  His  uniform  was  threadbare; 
he  was  seedy,  shabby,  sad;  but  despite  these  disad- 
vantages, this  man  of  energy  had  called  upon  this 
woman,  in  her  diamonds  and  full  toilette,  to  invoke 
her  aid.  And  the  first  thing  the  woman  did  was 
to  give  him  an  order  for  a suit  of  clothes  so  that  he 
could  appear  before  the  Convention  at  least  in  pre- 
sentable condition. 

She  was  a wayward,  perverse,  wicked  creature  this 
courtesan,  this  Theresa  Cabarrus,  this  mistress  of 
Barras,  but  she  befriended  Napoleon  when  he  needed 
a friend. 

Napoleon’s  sudden  rise  to  power  at  this  period  re- 
sembled the  metamorphosis  in  fairy  tales,  in  which 
palaces  arise  from  pumpkins  at  the  waving  of  a 
wand. 

He  made  his  headquarters  in  the  Eue  des  Capu- 
chines.  He  kept  Junot  and  Lemarois  near  him;  he 
sent  for  his  uncle  to  be  his  secretary.  He  also  sent 
fifty  thousand  francs  to  his  mother  and  sisters. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


169 


He  only  kept  cash  enough  for  himself  to  buy  a 
pair  of  fine  shoes  in  the  place  of  the  cracked  pair, 
some  new  stockings  without  any  ink  marks,  and 
some  gold  embroidery  for  the  new  uniform  he  had 
obtained  through  Madame  Tallien’s  order. 

He  at  once  helped  his  brothers.  He  had  now  wholly 
forgiven  Lucien,  for  he  took  him  as  his  aide;  he  ob- 
tained a consulship  for  Joseph,  and  paid  for  more 
schooling  for  Jerome. 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

« VEYETTE” — JOSEPHINE  AS  GIRL — WIFE — WIDOW — 
ADVENTURESS  AND  AS  NAPOLEON’S  IDOL. 

Fortune  had  smiled  suddenly  upon  Napoleon. 
He,  who  despite  his  war-like  abilities  and  the  praise 
of  influential  personages,  had  been  until  a few  days 
since  so  humble,  so  obscure,  was  now  the  fashion  in 
Paris. 

It  was  at  this  opportune  moment  in  his  career 
that  he  bethought  him  of  realizing  his  life-long 
dream  of  marrying  some  woman  who  should  aid 
him  socially  and  pecuniarily  in  maintaining  his 
position. 

He  set  about  the  matter  coolly,  almost  mathemat- 
ically, but  ere  long  he  upset  all  his  own  calculations 
by  falling  in  love. 

He  had  intended  to  look  about  him  and  do  the 
best  he  could  for  himself  in  a matrimonial  alliance, 
but  he  really  fell  in  love  with  the  first  woman  who 
came  in  his  path. 

It  was  at  Madame  Tallien’s,  while  paying  her  a 
visit  to  express  his  genuine  gratitude  for  her  friendly 
influence  in  his  behalf,  that  he  first  saw  Josephine, 
then  the  Widow  Beauharnais. 

Who  was  this  Josephine?  She  was  a creole  from 


170 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


the  Antilles.  She  was  one  of  those  foreign  adven- 
turesses who  are  occasionally  admitted  into  society 
althongh  society  really  knows  nothing  about  them. 

These  women  are  more  seductive  because  they  are  so 
mysterious,  and  they  come  from  afar.  Foreign  ad- 
venturesses are  always  preferred  to  the  home 
articles. 

Her  maiden  name  was  a long  one — Marie- Josephine- 
Eose  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie.  She  was  born  June  23, 
1763,  in  Martinique,  in  the  parish  of  Notre  Dame  de 
la  Purification.  She  had  two  sisters,  Catherine- 
Marie-Desiree,  and  Marie-Fran9ois.  Her  father  was 
a well -descended  planter,  whose  great  ambition,  like 
that  of  Napoleon,  was  to  see  his  family  well  married. 
He  had  been  captain  of  dragoons,  chevalier  of  St. 
Louis,  and  page  to  the  Dauphiness,  but  he  had  little 
land  and  less  money.  An  aunt  of  Josephine,  Ma- 
dame Eenaudin,  secured  a husband  for  her  favorite 
niece.  He  was  a younger  son  of  the  Marquis  de 
Beauharnais,  governor  of  the  Windward  Islands. 

The  marriage  took  place  when  both  parties  were 
children — he  eighteen,  she  sixteen.  But  young  as  she 
was,  Bonaparte  was  at  that  time  six  years  younger^ 
as  a schoolboy  at  Brienne. 

The  couple  came  to  Paris  and  lodged  in  the  Rue 
Thevenot.  Here  was  born  their  first  child,  Eugene, 
afterward  Prince  Eugene,  viceroy  of  Italy. 

The  couple  soon  separated.  The  young  husband 
grew  tired  of  a coquettish,  frivolous,  extravagant 
wife,  and  started  off  to  join  Lafayette,  Eochambeau, 
and  Washington  in  America,  and  during  his  absence 
the  future  Queen  Hortense  was  born — the  mother  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  afterward  Napoleon  the  Third. 

The  absent  husband,  in  the  intervals  of  fighting 
for  American  independence  against  the  English, 
made  love  right  and  left.  Josephine,  who  had,  with 
all  her  follies,  been  true  to  him,  now  followed 


MADAME  SAMS-OENE. 


171 


his  example.  His  absence  therefore  did  not  grieve 
her.  It  gave  her  a liberty  she  was  happy  to  obtain. 

She  began  to  lead  an  irregular  life.  She  had  her 
lovers  as  well  as  her  debts,  her  excitements  as  well 
as  her  troubles,  her  heights  as  well  as  her  depths. 
She  lived  on  the  edge,  or  the  outskirts,  of  society. 
The  Beauharnais  family  belonged  to  the  old  Orleans 
nobility,  so  she  was  not  absolutely  ostracized  at  court; 
but  she  was  barely  tolerated,  while  her  aunt  Eenaudin 
occupied,  like  herself,  a somewhat  equivocal  position^ 
and  was  not  eligible  at  Versailles. 

M.  de  Beauharnais,  finally  returning  to  France^ 
procured  a legal  separation.  As  there  were  wrongs 
on  both  sides,  the  ex-wife  received  ten  thousand 
livres  alimony.  She  then  revisited  Martinique,  and 
returned  to  France  in  1791,  accompanied  by  a marine 
gallant,  one  M.  Scipio  de  Eoux. 

She  found  her  ex-husband  occupying  a high  official 
position.  He  had  been  elected  several  times  president 
of  the  National  Assembly.  He  proposed  on  that  event- 
ful night,  the  fourth  of  August,  two  memorable 
resolutions  looking  to  the  abolition  of  the  old  order 
of  things — the  admissibility  of  all  citizens  to  all 
offices,  and  the  equality  of  taxes  for  all  classes  of 
citizens. 

Seeing  her  ex-husband  prosperous  and  powerful, 
the  ex-wife,  woman-like,  sought  to  be  reconciled  unto 
him;  she  succeeded.  She  pretended,  perhaps  really 
felt,  for  awhile  humility  and  penitence.  At  any 
rate,  she  became  a society  queen  in  the  Beauharnais 
mansion,  on  the  Eue  d’TJniversite. 

But  the  days  grew  dark;  the  Terror  approached; 
Beauharnais  was  arrested  hastily,  illegally,  and  exe- 
cuted in  the  same  manner.  He  was  one  of  the  early 
victims  of  the  guillotine. 

Beauharnais  died  as  he  lived,  a brave  man  and  a 
true  gentleman.  He  appealed  to  the  woman  he  left 


172  MADAME  8ANS-0ENE. 

behind  him  to  see  that  posterity  did  his  memory  jus- 
tice. It  has  partially  done  so.  Alexander  de  Beau- 
harnais  has  his  place  in  the  revolutionary  Pantheon, 
among  the  martyrs  of  the  new  evangel. 

The  revolution  transformed  Josephine  from  a 
social  outcast  into  a great  lady.  During  her  hus- 
band’s imprisonment  she  formed  the  acquaintance  of 
several  of  the  more  prominent  of  the  venerable  sur- 
vivors of  UAncien  Regime.  She  also  gained  the 
friendship  of  that  peculiar  woman  already  referred 
to,  La  Cabarrus,  a courtesan  who  became  Tallien’s 
wife,  and  Barras’  mistress. 

It  was  in  this  woman’s  house  that  Josephine  first 
met  the  slim  and  silent  young  conqueror,  Napoleon 
Bonaparte. 

By  this  time  Napoleon  had  become  ‘Hhe  fashion.” 
Everybody  was  speaking  of  the  general  who  had 
bounded  into  fame  and  power.  Salons  disputed  for 
his  presence,  women  smiled  upon  him,  but  he 
passed  them  by  gravely,  or  carelessly ; he  felt  himself 
a sovereign  already. 

Yet  the  Widow  Beauharnais  (already  passee^  and 
prematurely  grave),  with  her  creole  nonchalance, 
won  this  “coming  man”  with  her  first  effort. 

Bonaparte’s  feelings  were  captivated  at  the  very 
first  meeting  at  Madame  Tallien’s.  He  felt  himself 
dragged  into  the  charmed  circle  of  this  “dark 
daughter  of  the  isles;”  he  was  spellbound,  he  was 
charmed,  he  fell  prostrate. 

She  was  not  beautiful.  Lucien  Bonaparte,  her 
future  brother-in-law,  has  thus  recorded  his  impres- 
aions  of  this  woman 

“She  was  very  languid,  and  did  not  have  a single 
feature  that  could  be  called  beautiful,  though  the 
soft  curves  of  her  slight,  short  figure  suggested  the 
graceful  creole  form ; a face  without  natural  fresh- 
ness, which  required  the  colors  of  her  toilet  to  give  it 


MADAME  SANSr-GENE, 


m 


luster  and  brilliancy;  everything  indicated  the 
remains  of  her  early  youth,  as  the  painter,  Gerard,, 
has  faithfully  shown  in  his  portraits  of  the  first 
consul’s  wife.  In  the  brilliant  receptions  of  the 
Dirsctory,  to  which  Barras  introduced  me,  she  seemed 
to  me  no  longer  young,  and  inferior  to  the  beauties 
who  generally  composed  the  court  of  the  voluptuous 
director,  and  of  whom  the  fair  Tallien  was  the  veri- 
table Calypso.” 

This  pen-portrait  was  not  flattering,  but  it  was 
correct. 

Yes,  Josephine,  the  Widow  Beauharnais,  was  now 
over  thirty-two  years  old,  the  mother  of  two  children. 
She  had  lost  all  freshness.  Her  adventures,  her 
loves,  her  cares,  her  travels,  her  late  hours,  her  loose 
existence,  had  aided  the  work  of  time.  And  yet,  at 
their  very  first  meeting,  she  vanquished  the  man 
who  vanquished  the  world. 

Napoleon  left  the  Talliens  with  a throbbing  heart. 
His  eyes  were  abnormally  bright,  but  they  did  not 
burn  for  glory;  he  was  tormented  with  a pang,  but  it 
was  no  longer  hunger.  For  the  while  he  even  forgot 
his  family;  for  the  time  being  he  did  not  think  of 
conquering  mankind,  he  thought  only  of  one  woman 
who  had  just  told  him  that  her  friends,  and  those 
she  wished  to  be  friendly  with,  always  called  her  not 
Josephine,  but  by  the  pet  name  of  Yeyette. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

MADAME  BONAPARTE  AND  AN  INTERVIEW  WITH 
BARRAS — A WOMAN  ASKS  FOR  ADVICE  AND  TAKES  IT. 

Bonaparte,  whose  life  had  hitherto  been  as  clean 
as  it  had  been  industrious,  whose  only  intoxications 
had  been  mental,  became  the  ardent  lover  of  the 
middle-aged  woman  whose  pet  name  was  Yeyette. 


174 


MADAME  8AM8-GENE. 


It  is  perfectly  certain  that  Josephine  never  merited 
such  excessive  love;  but  the  young  general  was  in 
that  psychological  state  in  which  the  heart  is  pecul- 
iarly susceptible  to  dreams  of  an  ideal  woman. 

Josephine  was  clever,  but  not  a bluestocking.  She 
never  obtruded  her  smartness  on  a man.  She  pleased 
the  young  general  most  by  pretending  to  be  enor- 
mously, intensely  interested  in  his  generalship,  in  his 
.strategy,  in  his  victories,  in  himself. 

Besides  she  possessed  in  Napoleon’s  eyes  an  aristo- 
cratic prestige.  To  him  she  was  an  aristocrat,  une 
grande  dame  of  the  ancient  regime^  that  regime  which, 
spite  of  his  republicanism,  Napoleon,  within  his 
soul,  adored.  After  all  he  had  only  been  a Corsican 
gentleman  on  a small  scale,  and  had  seldom  or  never 
met  a great  court  lady. 

The  prestige  of  nobility  became  as  powerful  after 
the  Eed  Kevolution  as  before.  The  guillotine  had 
done  away  with  the  frayed  glitter  of  the  old  school 
of  aristocracy;  but  the  new  nobility  took  fresh  life 
and  new  color. 

And  in  the  case  of  Josephine,  Napoleon,  who 
though  even  now  a military  genius,  was  still  in 
worldly  and  social  affairs  almost  a child,  was  not 
able  to  distinguish  between  the  pinchbeck  aristocracy 
and  the  real.  He  took  the  cunning,  yet  careless 
widow  for  a great  lady.  To  tell  the  truth  it  was  not 
the  real  woman  Napoleon  loved  in  Josephine,  it  was 
the  ideal  woman  of  his  own  creation  and  imagination. 
She  was  not  the  type  of  his  ideal  woman  in  her  phy- 
:sique,  but  in  her  mentality  and  his  own. 

As  a matter  of  fact  Josephine’s  mature  age  helped 
her,  not  hindered  her,  with  Napoleon.  He  had  always 
sought  to  marry  women  older  as  well  as  richer  than 
himself.  He  had  wooed  the  Widow  Permon,  old 
enough,  as  she  confessed  herself,  to  be  his  mother. 
He  had  cared  for  Desiree  Clary,  the  soap-maker’s 


MADAME  SAN8-0EFE. 


175 


daughter,  not  for  her  youth,  hut  for  her  dowry. 
With  women  Bonaparte,  the  rude  soldier,  the  cold 
and  pitiless  politician,  was  always  short  and  stormy, 
a style  of  courtship  that  suits  mature  women  better 
than  younger  ones. 

He  wanted  a wife  who  could  rule  a salon,  a woman 
who  had  prestige,  friends,  an  established  social  rank. 
Josephine  represented  such  a woman  unto  him.  She 
was  aristocratic,  like  Madame  Permon;  she  was 
well-to-do,  like  Desiree  Clary;  at  least  he  thought  so. 

Unsentimental  as  it  may  sound,  it  was  Napoleon’s 
notion  that  Josephine  Beauharnais  was  rich,  which, 
as  much  as  his  passion  for  her,  induced  him  to  marry 
her. 

Now  Josephine  was  really  far  from  being  rich,  but 
she  was  far  from  letting  her  new  lover  into  the 
secret. 

After  the  meeting  at  Tallien’s,  the  widow  invited 
her  admirer  to  call  at  her  little  house.  No.  6 Kue  de 
Chantereine,  where  she  dazzled  him  with  her  appar- 
ent luxury,  all  manufactured  or  hired  for  the  occasion. 

Her  ‘‘little  house”  was  but  an  humble  and  cheap 
lodging.  To  the  practiced  eye,  lack  of  money  would 
have  been  evident  everywhere;  but  the  Bonaparte 
eye  was  not  “practiced”  in  this  direction,  and  so, 
with  two  attendants,  one  Gauthier,  who  was  at  once 
her  gardener,  her  coachman,  her  footman  and  her 
waiter,  and  one  Mile.  Compoint,  who  acted  as  friend, 
companion  and  maid,  the  widow  succeeded  in  daz- 
zling Bonaparte.  Why  not?  He  knew  really  nothing 
as  yet  of  luxury,  and,  being  still  a young  though 
rising  officer,  he  was  socially  invited  to  dine  with  a 
noble  lady. 

True  this  “little  house”  was  only  a part  of  the 
former  Hotel  de  Chantereine,  let  to  the  Citizeness 
Talma  for  four  thousand  livres.  Its  cellars  were 
without  wine,  even  its  woodshed  was  without  wood. 


176 


MADAME  SAN^GENE. 


but  a hiied  pair  of  horses,  showy  though  leau,  and  a 
line,  second-hand  coach,  stood  in  full  view,  in  evi- 
dence at  the  entrance.  Josephine,  tinseled  Bohemi- 
enne  and  practiced  coquette,  maintaCned  an  apparent 
luxury;  her  toilettes  were  many  but  her  lingerie  was 
scant. 

But  every  woman  knows  that  light,  airy,  tastefully 
trimmed  muslin  gowns  produce  a charming  eliect, 
and  cost  next  to  nothing. 

Napoleon  was  taken  captive.  He  left  the  ‘Mittle 
house,”  the  showy  but  battered  residence  of  a sj'iowy 
but  battered  woman,  with  his  head  turned  and  his 
senses  dazzled.  He  had  resolved  that  this  Josephine, 
Widow  Beauharnais,  must  be  his  wife! 

He  judged  her,  as  many  a man  wifch  the  one  thou- 
sandth part  of  his  abilities  has  judged  a woman 
before,  by  her  exterior.  He  was  not  aware  of  her 
real  character,  origin,  or  position. 

As  a wife  she  would  satisfy  him  wholly;  his  wife 
she  was  therefore  to  be.  Nothing  could  ever  with- 
stand his  will,  once  thoroughly  determined.  It 
shot  to  its  purpose  as  though  it  were  a shell  fired 
from  a cannon. 

He  did  not  hesitate,  but  it  was  Josephine  who  now 
hesitated  for  awhile.  She  had  resolved  to  attract 
this  rising  young  Bonaparte,  and  she  had  attracted 
hime,  he  was  at  her  feet;  but  to  marry  him,  to  link 
her  fate  to  his,  that  was  another  and  more  serious 
matter.  Her  present  position,  she  was  well  aware, 
was  precarious,  but  was  not  Bonaparte’s  also.  After 
all,  this  Napoleon  was  but  a new  man,  i\\Q  protege  of 
Barras.  Would  Barras  continue  his  interest  in  the 
young  adventurer?  How  would  the  Directory  regard 
her  marriage  with  this  new  man?  She  would  be 
cautious  and  see  first  what  this  worldly-wise  though 
sensual  potentate,  this  Barras,  thought  about  the 
matter. 


MADAME  SAMS-GEJSTE. 


in 


So  one  night  she  ordered  her  carriage  and  called  at 
the  Luxembourg,  to  have  a talk  with  Citizen  Barras, 
member  of  the  Directory. 

There  was  a f4te  at  the  Luxembourg  on  the  night 
of  Josephine’s  visit.  She  was  elaborately  dressed  in 
the  latest  style,  in  a Flora-like  costume,  light  as  a 
floating  vapor,  almost  transparent,  revealing  through 
its  soft  tissue  her  ripe,  rich,  dusky,  ivory  flesh. 

She  looked  at  her  best,  as  she  intended  to  do,  not 
only  to  please  the  eye  of  Barras,  but  to  shine  among, 
and  if  possible  above,  all  other  women  who  might  be 
present. 

She  also  wished  to  display  herself  before  Bonaparte, 
and  to  show  him  as  her  admirer  before  the  social 
world  of  Paris. 

Josephine  had  passed  some  tender  hours  with  Bar- 
ras ere  this,  in  times  gone  by,  but  still  remembered; 
she  had  never  been  his  mistress,  but  a love,  e?i  pas- 
sant, Barras  was  rough,  brutal,  with  a weather- 
beaten face,  a democratic  pasha,  but  he  made  pre- 
tensions to  elegance,  as  a member  of  the  regency. 
He  had  been  a man  of  many  loves,  of  whom  Joseph- 
ine Beauharnais  had  been  one,  an  hour’s  queen. 

No  woman  resisted  this  man  Barras.  He  broke 
hearts  as  well  as  heads.  Though  a revolutionist  by 
profession  he  was  an  aristocrat  by  nature.  Tall  and 
strong,  he  hid  under  the  mask  of  a staid  director 
the  manners  and  morals  of  a Don  Juan  of  the  bar- 
racks. 

He  carried  his  head  high ; he  lifted  his  three-white- 
feathered-hat  with  an  air;  he  clanged  carelessly  a 
curved  sword  in  a silver  scabbard;  he  pleased  the 
people  at  that  time. 

He  became  a species  of  uncrowned  king,  precisely 
what  the  mob  at  that  period  wanted.  He  had  been 
the  Louis  XI V.  of  the  army,  he  became  a grande 
monarque  in  the  republic.  Even  his  vices  aided 


1?8 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


him ; Lis  mistresses  helped  him  to  amuse  the  Pari- 
sians, and  then  he  was  a lavish  entertainer  and  gave 
great  fetes. 

Already  the  reaction  from  the  Terror  had  com- 
menced. The  early  days  of  the  revolution  were 
even  now  looked  back  upon  as  a nightmare.  Men 
reveled  in  joy  and  intoxicated  themselves  with  pleas- 
ures, wine,  women,  dance  and  song.  Lawn  parties 
every  day  and  night,  pretty  girls  in  low-necked 
dresses,  roses  everywhere,  equipages  everywhere.  A 
strange,  wild  period,  full  of  life  and  color,  a period 
that  ages  of  time  will  never  reproduce. 

And  this  man,  the  voluptuous  but  crafty  Barras, 
was  the  personification  of  his  period — the  embodi- 
ment of  the  follies,  the  passions  and  the  force  of  the 
Directory. 

Here-established  order  in  the  streets;  he  also  re- 
stored pleasures  in  society.  Was  it  a wonder,  then, 
that  young  and  old,  men  and  women,  adored  him? 
He  gambled  freely,  and  he  gave  as  freely;  he  ruled 
his  world. 

But  a woman  ruled  him.  The  woman’s  name  was 
La  Cabarrus,  the  courtesan,  known  as  Madame  Tal- 
lien.  She  was  the  prime  favorite  of  the  man  in 
power  in  Paris,  and  therefore  the  real  power. 

She  was  also  the  chief  agent  of  social  corruption. 
She  played  the  role  of  a broker — a superb  broker  and 
dealer  in  political  favors. 

She  aided  the  sybarite  director  in  burying  the 
revolution  under  flowers;  she  caused  an  orgy  of 
drink  and  dance  to  follow  the  intoxication  of  blood 
and  battle. 

In  the  red  revolution  brother  Frenchmen  de- 
voured each  other — a feast  of  Atrides.  But  under 
the  joint  sway  of  Barras  and  La  Cabarrus  the  .times 
became  a feast  of  Trimalcion. 

A soiree  at  Barras’  was  a concentration  of  the  dis- 


MADAME  SANS-QENE 


179 


tinctioD,  the  elegance,  the  virtue  and  the  vice,  the 
glory  and  the  folly,  in  short,  the  society  of  the 
period.  Young  generals,  old  statesmen,  Samsons 
and  their  Delilahs,  the  nouveau  riclie^  the  relics  of 
the  ancien  regime^  dandies,  belles,  fools  and  men  of 
brains  like  Laplace,  Monge  and  Volney — all  were  to 
be  seen  and  heard  in  the  halls  of  the  Luxembourg; 
all  glad  to  be  alive,  anxious  to  atone  by  pleasures 
present  for  the  loss  of  pleasures  in  the  past,  careless 
of  the  future,  each  man  and  woman  saying  to  him 
or  herself:  ‘‘If  this  could  only  last.”  While  in  the 
shadows,  Talleyrand,  just  returned  from  America, 
sneered  at  the  rottenness  of  a society  over  which, 
however,  he  hovered,  like  a vulture  soon  to  devour 
the  dead. 

In  the  midst  of  the  gay  whirl  Josephine  found  an 
opportunity  to  send  word  to  Barras  that  she  desired 
to  see  him  a moment  in  private. 

She  was  led  to  a small  apartment  beside  the  Direc- 
tor’s “study,”  separated  from  it  only  by  a thin 
partition. 

While  waiting  for  Barras  she  heard  his  voice  in 
his  “study.”  He  was  talking  to  Carnot,  who  was 
warning  him  against  this  new  Napoleon.  Barras 
warmly  defended  Bonaparte,  whereupon  Carnot 
withdrew,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Barras  now  lifted  a portiere  and  approached  Jo- 
sephine with  a smile  which  had  more  of  politeness 
than  sincerity  in  it.  Barras  was  really  uneasy;  what 
could  this  woman  want?  He  had  never  allowed  her 
to  have  a hold  upon  him.  She  had  been  glad,  when 
poor  and  alone,  to  avail  herself  of  his  favor  on  any 
terms,  and  he  had  been,  when  younger,  flattered  with 
the  favors  she  bestowed.  But  all  that  was  over  now 
on  either  side.  There  remained  only  the  memory  of 
past  intimacy,  the  soupfon  of  passion  long  grown 
cold. 


180 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


Josephine,  rather  timidly  for  her,  told  the  object 
of  the  present  interview. 

“Somebody  wants  me  to  marry  him,  my  dear 
director,”  she  said  without  preface.  “What  do  you 
think  of  it?” 

“Think,”  answered  Barras  gallantly,  “why,  that 
you  could  make  the  lucky  man  supremely  happy. 
Who  is  he?” 

“You  know  him  well,”  she  replied  smiling,  “he  is 
your  friend.  General  Napoleon  Bonaparte.” 

“Ah!  Bonaparte,”  said  Barras;  “a  person  of  prom- 
ise, an  eminently  able  artillery  officer,  a rising  man.” 

“Yes,”  remarked  Josephine,  “and  I think,  a good 
man.  He  will  be  a father  to  the  two  children  of 
Alexander  de  Beauharnais  and  a true  husband  to 
his  widow.” 

“All  very  well,  madame,  but  do  you  love  him?” 
asked  the  director. 

The  lady  hesitated,  stammered.  “No — that  is,  yes, 
— to  tell  the  truth,”  she  said,  “I  neither  love  nor 
dislike  him  as  yet.  I am  undecided — such  a state  of 
indecision,  they  say  in  Martinique,  where  I was  born, 
is  bad  for  the  soul.” 

“Ah!  one  must  consider  one’s  body  a little  when 
it  comes  to  marriage,”  remarked  Barras. 

“True,”  the  lady  granted;  “but  then  love  is  a 
cult,  M.  Barras;  it  needs  faith,  hope  and  counsel.  I 
want  to  make  up  my  mind  about  my  course  toward 
this  man.  I come  to  you  for  advice.  To  decide  is 
ever,  to  a careless  nature  like  mine,  a task  that  I 
gladly  yield  to  others.  I have  always  found  it  easiest 
to  do  as  I am  told.” 

“Then  how  must  my  advice  be  given?”  asked 
Barras  smiling;  “must  I tell  you  to  marry  the  gen- 
eral?” 

“No,  not  necessarily  so,”  said  Josephine,  “only 
advise  me  sincerely.  I really  admire  him  and  his 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


181 


courage,”  she  continued;  ‘^he  saved  society  on  that 
thirteenth  Vend^miaire.” 

Then  she  and  Barras  joined  in  praising  Napoleon, 
and  the  Director  told  the  widow  the  story  of  his  rela- 
tion with  him.  How  he  had  met  Napoleon,  a 
strange,  poor,  sternly  silent  young  man,  had  liked 
him  from  the  first,  and  had  since  found  this  liking 
more  than  justified. 

‘‘His  face  I do  not  think,  or  did  not  think  at  first, 
a fine  one,”  said  Barras,  speaking  of  Napoleon;  “but 
his  pronounced  features,  his  eyes  quick  and  fiery, 
his  movements,  animated  and  alert,  evince  an  ardent 
and  determined  spirit.  He  speaks  little,  but  his 
large,  broad  forehead  shows  that  he  thinks  much. 
He  is  a man,  believe  me,  Josephine,  a man  of  cour- 
age and  conviction,  who  may  be  a hero  and  may  be- 
come a great  man.  Take  him  since  he  wants  you. 
1 give  you  a friend’s  advice;  you  may  believe  me.” 

“Then,  Barras,  you  advise  me  to  marry  him?” 

“Yes,  Josephine;  and  if  you  marry,  you  will  learn 
to  love  him.” 

“Do  you  really  think  so,  Barras?  At  present  I 
must  confess,  that  although  he  worships  me,  I some- 
times almost  fear  him.” 

“Ah!  Josephine,  you  are  not  the  only  one.  All 
my  colleagues,  even  Carnot,  fear  him.” 

“Ah!  Barras,  if  he  intimidates  Directors,  think 
what  an  impression  he  may  make  upon  me,  a woman.” 

“But,  Josephine,  you  will  get  used  to  him  ere 
long.  Besides  he  donH  love  the  Directors,  but  you 
say  he  does  love  you.” 

“I  really  believe  he  is  very  much  in  love  with  me 
at  present,  but,  my  dear  Barras  (between  old  friends 
like  ourselves,'there  can  be  confidences  like  this)  as  I 
have  passed  my  first  youth,  can  I reasonably  hope  to 
retain  his  love?  Is  it  not  merely  on  his  part  a tem- 
porary delirium?” 


182 


MADAME  JSAJSrS-GENE. 


‘^Do  not  fret  too  much  about  the  future,  Joseph- 
ine; do  not  forever  foresee  misfortune  or  suffer  by 
anticipation.  Besides,  this  Bonaparte  feels  that  he  is 
destined  to  greatness;  he  claims  to  have  his  star.” 

‘‘Ah!  Barras,  a negro  woman  down  in  Martinique 
once  prophesied  that  I should  wear  a crown  and  be  a 
queen.  Now  I confess  I can  hardly  fancy  that  this 
Bonaparte  shall  ever  be  a king.” 

“Perhaps  not,  ma  cliere  Josephine,  but  if  he  mar- 
ries you,  some  one  may  give  him  as  a wedding 
gift ” 

“What,  Barras?” 

“The  command  of  the  army  of  Italy.  But  really, 
Josephine,  I shall  be  missed  from  the  fete.  You 
seem  surprised.  Well,  let  us  go  together  and  aston- 
ish this  Bonaparte,  who  I vow,  is  looking  round  for 
you  in  the  salon  at  this  moment.  Let  us  congratu- 
late this  coming  man:  I,  on  his  coming  marriage, 
you,  on  his  coming  command.” 

And  with  the  Widow  Beauharnais  on  his  arm, 
almost  speechless  at  the  decision  which  had  been 
made  in  her  behalf,  and  the  favor  the  head  of  the 
Directory  intended  to  show  her  future  husband, 
Barras,  assuming  his  most  majestic  air,  re-entered 
the  glittering  salon,  brilliant  with  light,  with  flowers 
and  with  women,  accompanied  by  the  future  Madame 
Bonaparte. 


OHAPTEK  XXII. 

HOW  A GREAT  MAK  MARRIED  AND  WAS  DEOEITED 
— THE  TRUTH  CONCERNING  JOSEPHINE — THE 
SWORD  FROM  THE  PYRAMIDS. 

Bonaparte,  on  February  23,  1796,  was  appointed 
general  of  the  army  of  Italy.  Carnot  had  yielded  to 


MADAME  8ANS-QENE. 


183 


the  wish  of  Barras.  There  was  one  opposing  voice 
only,  that  of  Kenbell,  but  he  was  overruled  by  his 
colleagues. 

And  a few  days  later,  March  9th,  the  marriage  of 
General  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  the  Widow  Beau- 
harnais  took  place. 

At  this  period  Bonaparte’s  life  was  all  fever  and 
love.  He,  in  the  literal  meaning  of  the  word, 
‘^adored”  Josephine  with  all  the  ecstasy  of  a Car- 
melite monk,  receiving  what  he  regards  as  a divine 
revelation.  Prostrated  with  emotion,  he  smothered 
his  idol  with  his  caresses,  he  wildly  embraced  her, 
he  fiercely,  almost  brutally,  flung  himself  upon  her, 
he  seized  her  in  his  arms,  he  cast  himself  upon  the 
gauzy  draperies  in  which,  in  fond  memories  of  the 
tropical  home  where  she  was  born,  the  now  almost 
beautiful  widow  loved  to  array  her  charms,  and  acted 
like  a barbarian  pillaging  a palace.  In  his  kisses  he 
sometimes  tore  his  darling’s  dresses.  His  hands  were 
always  trembling  when  they  touched  her,  his  lips 
always  hungry  for  hers.  With  all  the  untamed  ex- 
uberance of  his  exceptional  nature,  he  was  on  fire 
with  the  sense  of  possession.  He  loved  a woman,  and 
was,  he  thought,  loved  by  her,  for  the  first  and  last 
time  in  his  life;  and  his  passion,  long  accumulated 
and  repressed,  burst  at  length  with  the  violence  of 
a river  in  a flood.  And  with  the  double  joy  of  vanity 
and  love,  both  gratified,  mingled  the  bliss  yet  higher, 
to  a nature  like  his,  of  having  gained  his  point,  of 
having  fulfilled  his  will. 

For  the  time  the  great  man,  like  many  a little 
man,  forgot  himself — forgot  his  pride,  his  reserve, 
his  ambitions  for  success  and  conquest,  in  a delirium 
of  passion.  In  possessing  Josephine  he  fell,  as  it 
were,  into  an  intoxication  of  madness. 

He  was  a changed  man,  he  became  demonstrative, 
he  grew  nervous,  he  laughed,  he  talked,  he  wept. 


184 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


Bnfc  liis  honeymoon  was  short.  Two  days  after 
the  official  ceremony  he  departed  from  Paris  to  Italy. 
He  was  now  indeed  upon  the  road  to  glory.  Hence- 
forth he  stopped  at  the  inns  of  love  only  between 
victories,  until  the  fatal  day  when  he  was  destined  to 
stumble  upon  the  marriage  bed  of  Archdachess  Marie 
Louise  of  Austria. 

One  point  here  en  passant.  In  the  certificate  of 
his  marriage  with  Josephine,  Napoleon,  to  lessen  the 
discrepancy  of  age  between  his  bride  and  himself, 
gallantly  recorded  himself  as  two  years  older  than  he 
actually  was,  while  on  her  part,  Josephine,  woman- 
like, recorded  herself  as  four  years  younger  than  the 
truth.  It  was  a bride’s  natural  whim  to  be  no  older 
than  her  young  husband,  but  it  was  fated  to  have 
unpleasant  consequencesfor  the  woman  in  later  years. 

During  his  Italian  campaign,  when  not  burning 
with  war-like  fervor,  Napoleon  was  on  fire  with  love 
for  Josephine. 

He  never  allowed  a day  to  pass  without  penning 
some  tender  epistle,  though,  sooth  to  say,  these  love- 
letters  were  generally  rather  too  emphatic  in  their 
tone,  suggesting  the  style  of  a Saint-Preux  writing 
to  Julie. 

Even  when  weary  with  travel,  and  sleepless,  the 
young  general,  forgetting  his  cares  and  dangers, 
never  failed  to  fill  a sheet  with  living  words,  and  dis- 
patch it  by  a courier  traveling  day  and  night,  to 
Paris  and  to  Josephine.  His  tender  messages  were 
carried  as  quickly  and  as  carefully  as  his  accounts  of 
battles  won.  To  the  man  who  wrote  the  letters  and 
won  the  battles,  one  was  as  important  as  the  other. 

She  was  in  truth  the  queen  of  France,  that  insig- 
nificant and  sensual  creole.  The  people  of  Paris, 
intoxicated  with  Napoleon’s  triumphs,  regarded  her 
ns  an  empress  already,  and  hailed  her  when  she  ap- 
peared in  public,  on  her  husband’s  friend  Junot’s 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


185 


arm,  with  halleluias  shouted  by  a hundred  thousand 
voices,  f 

Carnot,  completely  converted  to  belief  in  the  man 
he  once  doubted,  pronounced  a harangue  in  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  in  which  he  compared  Napoleon  to 
Miltiades  and  to  Epaminondas.  The  poet,  Lebrun, 
wrote  a poem  and  led  the  chorus  of  a song,  in  Bona- 
parte’s honor,  who  was  on  the  eve  of  taking  Mantua. 
All  France  paid  homage  to  Citizeness  Bonaparte  for 
the  sake  of  her  absent  husband. 

And  yet  it  can  be  proved  that  on  the  very  night 
when  this  great  demonstration,  this  almost  apotheosis 
of  her  husband  took  place,  where  she  was  worshiped 
as  a goddess,  this^very  Josephine  passed  several  hours 
in  the  society  of  a then  popular  actor,  after  whom 
she  received  a handsome  young  officer,  a M.  Charles, 
a second  lieutenant  of  hussars. 

This  last  mentioned  scapegrace  was  her  special 
favorite.  She  not  only  sacrificed  to  him  her  own 
and  her  husband’s  honor,  but  her  husband’s  money. 
M.  Charles,  like  Josephine  herself,  was  always  in 
pecuniary  straits,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  demand 
financial  aid  from  the  woman  who  had  already  given 
him  herself. 

Josephine,  in  short,  was  false  to  Napoleon  almost 
from  the  hour  she  married  him.  She  was  proud  of  him, 
of  course;  no  woman  in  her  position  could  have  failed 
in  pride  in  possessing  such  a man.  She  was  well 
aware  by  this  time  that  he  was  one  of  the  great  men 
of  the  world,  and  was  destined  to  be  greater.  She 
knew  also,  and  perhaps,  being  a woman,  this  knowl- 
edge gave  her  more  delight  than  all  else  beside,  that 
every  woman  now  desired  Napoleon,  and  envied  her 
influence  over  him.  Perhaps,  to  a certain  extent 
too,  she  was  grateful  for  his  kindness  to  herself  and  to 
her  children. 

But  this  much  is  certain:  she  did  not  love  him  as 


186 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


he  loved  her  ; she  did  not  constantly  desire  to  be  with 
him  as  he  with  her. 

Bonaparte  longed  to  have  her  company  dnring  his 
Italian  campaign,  but  she  persistently  refused  to  join 
him.  She  ever  had  excuses  in  plenty  for  her  refusal. 

Her  course  in  this  matter  at  one  time  came  very 
near  defeating  itself.  Her  husband,  worn  out  with 
fighting  and  privation,  sick  of  glory,  became  light- 
headed and  foolish.  He  talked  seriously  of  throwing 
up  his  commission,  resigning  his  command,  and  living 
constantly  with  his  Yeyette.  If  she  would  not  come 
to  him,  he  would  go  to  her.  Many  a wife  would 
have  been  glad  to  encourage  such  a plan,  preferring 
her  husband’s  company  with  peace,  to  his  absence 
with  glory  and  war.  But  not  so  Josephine.  In 
mortal  terror  that  ho  really  might  surrender  all  to 
come  to  her,  she  at  last  consented  to  leave  Paris  and 
seek  him.  Of  two  pressing  evils,  she  chose  what 
seemed  to  her  the  less. 

This  is  not  the  view  of  Josephine’s  character  which 
has  been  given  to  the  world  by  poets,  dramatists  and 
novelists,  up  to  date;  but  it  is  the  view  which  histo- 
rians and  men  of  research,  men  who  look  for  facts, 
not  fancy,  for  truths,  not  theories,  have  been  forced 
to  adopt.  . It  is  the  view  which  will  be  taken  by 
posterity. 

As  a rule,  Napoleon  was  not  betrayed  to  such  an 
extent  by  the  men  he  had  benefited  as  by  the  women 
whom  he  had  blessed.  He  was  not  deceived  in  the 
majority  of  the  marshals  whom  he  loaded  with  honors 
and  wealth,  but  in  the  two  women  whom  he  married. 
These,  Josephine  and  Marie  Louise,  whom  he  called 
from  all  the  millions  of  their  sex,  to  share  his  name 
and  his  glory,  behaved  toward  him  like  infamous 
wretches.  Which  woman  treated  him  the  worae, 
casuists  must  decide.  Both  deceived  him,  neither 
even  loved  him. 


MADAME  SANM-QENE. 


187 


On  the  whole  the  daughter  and  descendant  of 
bestial  emperors^  Marie  Louise,  of  Austria,  was  the 
more  excusable.  She  did  not  have  the  opportunity 
of  knowing  the  Napoleon  whom  she  married  as  well 
as  did  Josephine.  She  was  not  a resident  of  Paris, 
she  was  not  a citizen  of  France,  she  had  not  lived  in 
the  French  capital  in  the  days  of  thoi  Directory,  and 
watched  Napoleon’s  course;  she  understood  not  the 
man  Napoleon.  All  Marie  Louise  knew  was  that 
Bonaparte  had  conquered  her  father,  and  entered 
her  nuptial  chamber  as  though  it  were  but  one  of  his 
vanquished  cities. 

After  the  Italian  campaign,  Bonaparte,  both  victor 
and  peacemaker,  returned  to  Paris,  but  dreamed  of 
the  East. 

As  before  remarked  there  was  much  of  the  oriental 
in  his  nature,  and  to  Napoleon  at  this  period  of  his 
career,  the  East  was  not  merely  a field  for  conquest 
and  for  glory,  but  a place  for  rest.  Aye,  rest  from 
the  intrigues  and  uncertainties  of  Paris. 

For  returning  to  the  gay  capital,  December  5, 
1797,  and  settling  down  with  delight  in  the  ‘‘little 
house”  in  the  Eue  Chantereine,  which  in  his  honor 
had  been  rechristened  to  Eue  de  la  Victoire,  he  began 
to  experience  some  of  the  nuisances  and  some  of  the 
dangers  of  popularity . 

He  was  compelled  to  be  personally  present  at  all 
military  f4tes.  He  was  forced  to  pose  as  a hero,  he 
was  saluted  everywhere  he  went  by  a flutter  of  flags. 

In  vain  he  endeavored  to  free  himself  from  the 
ovations  with  which  he  was  constantly  pursued. 
Carnot’s  place  was  now  vacant  at  the  institute; 
it  was  offered  to  him,  and  he  tried  to  figure  no 
longer  as  a warrior,  but  as  a student. 

He  declined  all  distinctions  and  gifts,  refused  the 
famous  Chateau  de  Chambord,  one  of  the  marvels  of 
the  art  of  the  Eenaissance. 


188 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


Finally,  seeing  that  France  would  accept  him  as 
its  soldier  and  its  general  only,  he  aimed  high,  and 
aspired  to  the  position  of  commander-in-chief  of  the 
French  army  for  the  conquest  of  England. 

Great  Britain,  the  traditional  enemy  of  France, 
had  ever  been  the  foe  of  the  revolution  and  the 
republic. 

But  Napoleon  did  not  now  propose  to  attack  Eng- 
land direct.  He  determined  to  injure  his  adversary 
indirectly,  but  vitally,  through  her  colonies  and  an- 
nexed territories. 

And  in  this  scheme  he  included  a gigantic,  a poetic, 
but  an  impracticable  plan  for  conquering  the  East — ■ 
that  East  which  Great  Britain  was  annexing, ^ that 
East  of  which  he  dreamed. 

So  he  planned  the  campaign  in  Egypt.  It  was 
well  for  him  he  did  so,  in  one  way.  It  led  him  to 
leave  Paris,  which  would  soon  have  wearied  of  even 
Napoleon — in  peace. 

The  mob  is  fickle  and  soon  tires  of  hero-worship. 

He  himself  once  remarked  to  a friend,  when  the 
crowd  were  shouting  his  praises:  ‘‘Bah!  when  they 
shall  have  seen  me  three  times  they  won’t  look  at  me 
the  fourth.” 

A conspiracy  against  him  hastened  his  departure. 
His  enemies  who  were  few  in  number  comparatively, 
but  determined,  hinted  that  he  had  misused  public 
money  in  the  Italian  campaign.  Eeubell,  a weak, 
but  honest  politician,  took  Bonaparte  at  his  word, 
too,  one  day,  in  a rather  pointed  and  unpleasant 
manner:  “lam  ready  to  resign  my  sword  to  France.” 
Bonaparte  had  remarked.  “Then  resign,”  said  Reu- 
bell,  handing  Napoleon  a pen,  with  which  to  write 
his  resignation. 

He  started  for  the  East  at  last,  addressing  his 
troops  before  they  started,  with  one  of  those  glowing 
proclamations  which  were  so  thoroughly  Napoleonic. 


MADAME  SANS--GENE. 


189 


Proclamations  in  which  he  made  his  men  believe^ 
because  he  almost  believed  in  them  himself. 

The  campaign  in  Egypt  began  with  its  fabled 
marches.  It  was  like  a tale  in  the  Arabian  Nights. 
On  May  19,  1798,  Napoleon  Bonaparte  left  Toulon 
for  the  orient,  but  on  October  15,  1799,  the  news 
reached  Paris  that  he  had  embarked  for  his  return 
at  Frejus.  France  then  prepared  to  receive  him  as 
a savior.  Paris  made  ready  to  welcome  him  as  an 
almost  godlike  hero. 

The  whole  country  resigned  itself,  as  it  were,  to 
his  embrace,  like  the  actress  when  she  swoons  in  the 
arms  of  her  lover  in  the  play. 

But  even  at  this  time  it  is  doubtful  if  he  had 
really  in  his  own  mind  any  fixed  plan  or  design  to 
overturn  the  existing  order  of  things  and  make  his 
own  will  law,  as  it  afterward  came  to  pass. 

No,  he  was  a dreamer  as  well  as  a man  who  caused 
dreams  to  come  true,  and  he  was  guided  by  events. 

The  18th  Brumaire  was  commanded  by  public 
opinion,  though  it  was  executed  by  Napoleon. 

Had  Napoleon  not  attempted  the  coup  dPetat  on 
that  occasion,  Bernadotte,  Moreau,  or  some  other 
general  would  have  essayed  it. 

Bonaparte  prepared  for  this  event;  he  surrounded 
himself  with  a bold  and  capable  staff  of  assistants, 
brave  warriors  like  Lannes,  Murat,  Berthier,  Mar- 
mont,  legislators  like  Cambacer^s,  and  fishers  in 
the  troubled  waters  of  statecraft,  like  Talleyrand 
and  Fouche.  He  trusted  greatly  to  his  two  brothers, 
Lucien  and  Joseph,  who  worked  actively  in  his  be- 
half. Through  his  precautions  he  succeeded. 

On  the  18th  Brumaire  (November  9,  1799)  all 
parties  concerned  met  at  Napoleon’s  “little  house” 
in  the  Eue  de  la  Victoire,  at  six  in  the  morning. 
The  pretense  for  the  meeting  \7Q8  a review. 

Only  one  man  on  whom  Napoleon  had  confidently  . 


190 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


counted  was  absent.  This  one  man  was  Napoleon’s 
old  friend,  Lefebvre. 

Bonaparte  asked  for  him  with  ill-concealed  anxiety. 

Where  is  Lefebvre?”  he  inquired  of  Marmont. 
^ Why  is  he  not  with  us?” 

At  that  very  moment  some  one  announced  “Gen- 
eral” Lefebvre.  For  he  was  now  a general  in  the 
army — our  Lefebvre.  He  had  indeed  made  great 
strides  onward  and  upward,  this  husband  of  Cath- 
erine Sans-Gene.  He  was  at  this  moment,  in  fact, 
governor  of  Paris.  He  had  been  first  guardsman, 
then  lieutenant,  then  captain,  till  at  last  he  had 
risen  to  be  general  in  charge  of  the  seventeenth 
military  division,  which  included  the  French 
capital. 

He  became  a hero  when  his  comrade  Hoche, 
who  likewise  rose  to  the  rank  of  general,  was  killed. 
He  had  conducted  the  army  of  Sambre-et-Meuse  to 
victory;  he  had  then  commanded  the  army  of  the 
Danube,  and  would  have  become  a member  of  the 
Directory;  but  he  was  too  much  of  a soldier,  and  too 
much  of  a republican. 

At  this  crisis,  as  commander-in-chief  of  the  army 
of  Paris,  his  aid  was  absolutely  indispensable  to 
Napoleon. 

But  Napoleon  had  not  fully  informed  Lefebvre  of 
his  plans,  who,  finding  out  the  night  before  that  mili- 
tary movements  were  being  undertaken  without  his 
orders,  became  indignant,  and  now  sought  Napoleon 
to  obtain  an  explanation. 

He  was  therefore  in  a bad  humor  when  he  entered 
the  room,  where  the  rest  were  assembled. 

Napoleon  did  not  seem  to  notice  this,  however, 
and  ran  to  him,  with  arms  outstretched. 

“Ah!  my  dear  old  Lefebvre,”  he  cried  in  his  most 
familiar  tone  and  manner,  “how  are  you?  and  how 
is  your  wife,  the  good  Madame  Catherine  Sans-G6ne? 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE. 


191 


Has  slie  still  her  heart  in  her  hand,  and  is  her  tongue 
as  ready  as  her  heart,  as  ever?  My  wife,  Madame 
Bonaparte,  justly  complains  that  she  sees  far  too 
little  of  her.” 

Napoleon  could  flatter  either  man  or  woman  when 
it  was  worth  his  while. 

My  wife  is  well,  I thank  you,  General  Bonaparte,” 
replied  Lefebvre,  still  under  the  spell  of  his  bad 
humor,  though  thawing  fast;  ‘‘but  that  is  not  the 
matter  at  issue.” 

Napoleon  interrupted  him.  “Look  you,  my  dear 
old  comrade,”  said  the  great  man,  with  that  tone  of 
affectionate  good  fellowship  which  he  could  so  well 
assume  on  necessary  occasions,  “you  are  one  of 
the  main  props  of  the  republic;  you  are  not  the  man 
to  let  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  lawyers.  Look  at  this.” 

He  pointed  to  a magnificent  sword  he  was  wearing; 
a saber  with  a jeweled  hilt. 

“This,”  continued  Napoleon,  “is  the  scimitar  of 
the  great  chief  Mourad  Bey.  It  is  a sword  from  the 
Pyramids,  and  now,”  taking  the  weapon  and  handing 
it  to  Lefebvre,  “it  is  yours.  Accept  it  as  a token  of 
my  confidence  and  my  esteem.” 

Lefebvre,  though  flattered'  immensely,  still  hesi- 
tated a moment — but  only  a moment.  He  began  to 
understand  now  that  a coup  d’^etat  was  to  be  under- 
taken, and  as  he  believed  in  Napoleon,  he  would  take 
his  side  of  the  affair.  And  so  he  took  the  sword  of 
the  Pyramids. 

“You  are  right,  General  Bonaparte,”  he  said,  “let 
us  throw  all  the  lawyers  into  the  river.” 

This  decided  the  matter.  Soon  the  18th  Bru- 
maire  was  over,  and  that  day  changed  once  more  the 
destinies  of  France. 

That  evening.  General  Lefebvre,  as  he  embraced 
his  faithful  Catherine  on  his  return  home,  drew  from 
his  scabbard  Napoleon’s  gift. 


192 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


‘‘Look,  wife,”  he  said,  “it  is  a Turk’s  sword,  fit 
only  for  a parade,  or  to  hit  a lawyer  over  the  back. 

I We  will  leave  it  in  the  scabbard,  and  it  will  serve  ns 
as  a reminder  of  the  friendship  of  General  Bonaparte, 
who  began  life  almost  as  humbly  as  we  did,  my  sweet 
Catherine.” 

“But,  Lefebvre,  it  is  really  a fine  sword,”  cried 
Catherine;  “will  you  not  use  it,  sometimes?” 

“No,  my  Catherine,”  answered  her  husband.  “I 
have  my  own  sword  to  defend  my  country  with,  to 
strike  against  the  Austrians,  the  Prussians  or  the 
English,  or  to  go  wherever  Bonaparte  may  choose  to 
lead  us.  Aye,  if  it  were  to  fight  the  very  thunder, 
my  own  sword  will  do — my  dear  old  sword  with  which 
I led  the  army  of  Sambre-et-Meuse:  it  is  good  enough, 
my  sweet.” 

And  so  saying  General  Lefebvre,  embracing  the 
wife  he  loved  as  dearly  now,  as  on  that  memorable 
tenth  of  August,  kissed  her  fervently  and  tenderly, 
and  the  soldier’s  kiss  was  as  pure  and  honest  as  the 
dear  old  sword. 


MADAME  SANB-QENE 


193 


BOOK  FOURTH. 

LA  MARECHALE. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

MADAME  LA  MARECHALE  TAKES  A DANCING  LESSON 
AND — A THUNDERBOLT  FALLS. 

Discreetly  and  softly  the  door  of  a bedchamber 
at  Saint-Cloud  was  opened,  and  a maid  peeped  into 
the  apartment.  Then  she  entered  the  room  and 
approached  a superb  mahogany  bed,  crowned  with  a 
coronet  from  which  fell  two  large  flowered  curtains. 

Gently  she  called:  ‘‘Madame  la  Marechale!  waken! 
it  is  ten  o’clock.” 

A decidedly  strong  yet  hoarse  voice  came  from 
beneath  the  bedclothes. 

“ del!  one  can’t  even  sleep  in  this  palace  of  paste- 
board.” 

Pardoyinez  moiP'*  said  the  maid,  “butmadame 
ordered  that  she  should  be  called  at  ten  o’clock.” 

“Is  it  ten  already?”  cried  the  voice.  “What  a 
lazy  wretch  I am  becoming,  to  be  sure.  I was  a 
different  woman  when  I took  in  washing.  I rose 
early  then;  and  later  on,  in  the  regiment  beside  the 
canteen,  I did  not  wait  for  the  morning  drum-call  to 
sound  twice  ere  I was  stirring;  but  now,  since  I am 


194 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


Madame  la  Marechale,  I cannot  bestir  myself.  Come, 
Lise;  quick,  my  dressing-gown.” 

And  Madame  la  Marechale  sprang  out  of  bed,  and 
trufeh  to  tell,  swore  like  a trooper  because  she  couldn’t 
find  her  hosiery. 

She  was  not  an  easy  mistress  when  she  was  dress- 
ing, being  impatient  to  a degree.  Though  she  was 
now  La  Marechale  Lefebvre,  she  retained  all  her  old 
looks  and  ways;  all  the  familiarity  of  gesture,  all  the 
good-fellowship  which  had  distinguished  her  in  the 
Saint-Koche  quarter  as  laundress,  and  in  the  great 
days  of  the  revolution,  in  the  army  of  the  North,  of 
the  Moselle,  and  of  the  Sambre-et-Meuse,  when  she 
was  cantiniSre,  and  was  known  by  all  as  Madame 
Sans-G^ne. 

The  course  of  events  had  changed  the  earth,' and 
individual  destinies  since  then. 

The  little  artillery  officer  had  become  first  consul, 
and  then  emperor.  He  sat  on  the  throne,  ablaze 
with  glory,  while  humbled  kings  fell  prostrate  at  his 
feet,  and  the  predictions  of  the  Waux-Hall  ball 
magician  had  been  realized  by  Lefebvre  and  his  wife. 
Lefebvre  had  been  the  favorite  alike  of  the  consul 
and  the  emperor,  and  when  Napoleon  had  restored 
the  old  order  of  marshals  of  France,  he  became  one 
of  the  very  first  appointed  to  that  rank;  he  was  also 
a senator.  The  emperor  considered  him  ignorant 
but  invincible — a man  who  decided  what  to  do  (after 
he  had  done  it),  on  the  field  of  battle. 

The  great  leader  liked  this;  it  suited  him.  Napo- 
leon schemed,  Lefebvre  executed.  The  emperor  was 
the  cannon,  he  the  ball.  He  commanded  Napoleon’s 
pets — the  imperial  foot-guards,  composed  of  giants. 

But  Lefebvre  was  not  only  a great  warrior,  but 
what  was  more  rare,  a good  husband. 

Toward  Catherine  he  was  always  the  same.  The 
change  of  uniform  caused  no  change  of  conduct;  the 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


195 


medal  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  over  his  breast  altered 
not  the  heart  within  it. 

The  imperial  court  laughed  a little  at  such  old- 
fashioned  conjugal  fidelity,  but  Napoleon,  who  pre- 
tended publicly  to  an  austerity  of  morals,  congratu- 
lated Lefebvre  and  his  wife  on  the  excellent  example 
they  set  his  courtiers. 

Still  the  emperor  w^as  annoyed  at  some  of  Madame 
la  Mar^chale’s  sans-gme  habits.  He  used  to  lecture 
Lefebvre  about  them.  “Listen,  Lefebvre,”  said  his 
majesty,  “try  to  make  your  wife  understand  that 
she  need  not  lift  her  skirts  as  if  she  was  jumping  a 
ditch,  when  she  enters  the  apartments  of  the  empress; 
tell  her,  too,  not  to  swear  any  more,  and  to  pronounce 
her  ‘f’s’  and  her  ‘p’s:’  and  one  more  suggestion,  Le- 
febvre; are  you  listening?” 

“Yes,  sire,”  answered  Lefebvre,  and  he  loas  paying 
attention.  It  grieved  him,  what  the  emperor  said, 
but  he  knew  there  was  reason  for  it. 

“Well,”  continued  Napoleon,  “your  wife  is  always 
bandying  words  with  my  sisters,  especially  with  Elisa. 
This  must  not  be;  one  does  not  like  these  eternal 
bickerings  among  women.” 

“Sire,”  said  Lefebvre,  defending  his  wife  on  this 
point;  “your  sisters  reproach  my  wife  and  myself 
with  being  republicans;  yet  are  we  not  still  republi- 
cans, you  and  I?” 

He  asked  this  question  with  a triumphant  air. 
Like  most  of  the  soldiers  of  ’92,  he  fancied  that  he 
was  still  serving  the  republic  by  serving  the  emperor. 

Napoleon  smiled  slightly,  then  continued:  “So  my 
old  comrade  and  friend,  do  ask  your  wife,  for  me,  not 
to  quarrel  any  more  with  my  sisters.” 

“Sire,”  said  Lefebvre,  “I  shall  repeat  your  maj- 
esty’s remarks  to  my  wife;  she  will  remember  them.” 

“If  she  suj)plemented  the  emperor;  “I  do 

not  demand  what  is  impossible — early  habits  will 


196 


MADAME  SAJSrS-OENE. 


dingo”  Then  he  said,  as  if  to  himself,  What  folly 
for  a man  to  marry  when  he  is  a sergeant.  Yet  I 
made  almost  the  very  same  mistake  myself;  but  after 
all  there  is  a remedy,”  his  voice  sank  to  a whisper, 
heard  by  himself  alone,  ‘‘divorce.” 

As  if  to  distract  his  thoughts  he  drew  from  a 
pocket  in  his  white  waistcoat  an  oval  snuff-box,  and 
inhaled  the  odor  of  its  contents.  That  was  the 
imperial  method  of  taking  snuff;  the  emperor  never 
smoked. 

Suddenly  he  retraced  his  steps  to  Lefebvre.  “ Your 
wife  should  take  lessons  of  Despreaux,”  he  said,  and 
said  no  more. 

Lefebvre  at  once  sought  this  Despreaux,  the  dancing 
master,  par  excellence^  of  the  imperial  court.  What 
a personage  he  was!  small,  slender,  graceful,  per- 
fumed  and  powdered  he  had  danced  through  “the 
times  of  the  Terror,”  as  though  they  were  balls;  and 
when  the  revolution  was  over  he  became  quite  a 
personage. 

Now  this  dancing  master  had  made  an  appoint- 
ment to  call  on  Madame  la  Marechale  at  ten  this 
morning.  Hence  the  maid’s  awakening,  and  Cath- 
erine’s haste. 

When  once  awake — when  at  last  fully  dressed, 
Catherine  entered  her  salon,  she  found  Despreaux 
bowing  before  a mirror,  and  limbering  his  joints. 

Even  court  dancing  masters’  limbs  grow  stiffer  as 
they  grow  older. 

“Ah!  there  you  are,  professor,”  cried  Catherine; 
“and  how  is  your  good  health?”  she  asked,  good- 
humoredly  and  bluntly.  She  seized  him  % the 
hand  (he  had  never  dreamed  of  extending  his  own,, 
it  would  not  have  been  “etiquette”),  and  she  shook 
hands  heartily. 

The  dancing  master  had  been  interrupted  while 
he  was  practicing  before  the  mirror  the  second  move- 


MADAME  SAJS'S-GEJSTE. 


197 


inent  of  his  very  best  bow,  and  he  didn’t  like  it.  He 
blushed,  he  stammered,  he  looked  down,  he  took 
away  his  hand  from  la  Marechale’s  grip,  readjusted 
his  cuffs,  disordered  somewhat  by  her  too  earnest 
greeting,  and  said  dryly : “ I have  the  honor  to  await 
the  orders  of  Madame  la  Marechale.” 

“Well,  little  one,”  said  Saus-Geue,  heedless  of 
“the  professor’s”  fussiness,  and  leaning  with  her  fair 
plump  arms  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  “the  case  stands 
that  I have  sent  for  you  because  the  emperor  wants 
me  to — his  majesty  thinks  we  haven’t  got  manners 
enough  for  his  court — he  wants  us  to  get  some  man- 
ners. In  short,  you  know  what  he  wants,  old  boy.” 

Old  boy!  The  professor  looked  and  felt  as  if 
he  was  about  to  faint. 

Old  boy ! The  poor  fellow  could  have  expired  on 
the  spot.  In  a weak  voice,  choked  by  emotion,  he 
managed  to  say:  “Madame,  his  majesty  is  right  in 
desiring  that  his  courtiers  should  acquire  distinction, 
polish  and  elegance,  as  becomes  a court.  I am  proud 
to  be  the  humble  interpreter  of  his  wishes.  May  I 
ask,  Madame  la  Marechale,  what  you  wish  to  learn  of 
the  great  art  I teach, that  you  may  please  his  majesty  ?” 

“ What  do  I wish,”  said  Catherine.  “Aye,  that’s 
just  the  very  point,  my  lad!” 

The  professor  winced. 

Catherine  continued : “ But  as  there’s  to  be  a great 
ball  at  the  palace  next  Tuesday,  when  they  are  to 
dance  the  gavotte,  I guess  it  must  be  that-  Though, 
on  my  life,”  she  added,  “why  they  should  want  tho 
gavotte  I can’t  guess,  for  they  tell  me  it  was  danced 
in  the  times  of  the  tyrants.  But  if  the  emperor 
wishes  me  to  dance  the  gavotte,  let  me  have  it.  You 
deal  in  the  article  it  seems,  so  hand — or  foot  it  over.” 

The  “professor”  at  this  free  and  easy  style  of  ad- 
dress nearly  had  a fit,  but  he  found  strength  to  say 
with  some  earnestness: 


198 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


“Madame  la  Marecliale,  the  gavotte  is  a difficult 
dance,  and  it  needs  inclination — yes,  inspiration. 
Perhaps,”  he  added,  with  pretended  modesty,  “I 
may  not  be  qualified  to  teach  it  to  you,  though  I had 
the  honor  of  instructing  Madame  the  Dauphiness, 
with  whom  it  was  a special  favorite.” 

“ Well,  we  can’t  do  more  or  less  than  try  anyway,” 
cried  Catherine  carelessly.  “To  tell  the  truth,”  she 
added  in  a confidential  tone,  “if  it  was  07ily  the  em- 
peror I wouldn’t  bother.  He  didn’t  care  whether 
I knew  how  to  dance  the  gavotte  or  not  when  I washed 
his  clothes;  but  it  is  Lefebvre  has  asked  me  also,  and 
that  alters  the  matter,  my  boy.” 

The  professor  felt  the  faint  feeling  once  again. 

Catherine  continued:  “And  as  whatever  my  hus- 
band wishes,  I wish;  why,  here  goes.  You  see,  Le- 
febvre and.  I are  like  two  fingers  on  the  same 
hand,  and  we  let  all  the  princes  and  princesses  who 
choose,  laugh  at  us  because  we  keep  our  marriage 
vows.  But  come,  my  good  man.” 

(One  more  fluttering  of  the  professor’s  heart,  one 
more  attack  of  “nerves.”) 

“I  am  ready  for  the  gavotte.  Say,  where  do  I 
put  my  feet?” 

And  Sans-Gene  tapped  the  floor  twice  with  her 
well-shaped  though  large-sized  foot,  as  if  she  were 
executing  a military  call  to  arms. 

The  dancing  master,  almost  by  this  time  reduced 
to  a state  of  collapse,  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly. 

“Oh!  these  vulgar  times!”  he  thought,  “when  an 
aristocratic  dancing  master  has  to  try  to  teach  good 
manners  to  cantinieres,  and  the  gavotte  to  laun- 
dresses.” 

Mastering  up  courage,  he  asked  Catherine  a ques- 
tion: 

“Madame,  have  you  ever  danced?” 

Mille  tonnaire!  hear  the  man!”  she  exclaimed. 


MADAME  SANS-QENE. 


199 


*^Have  I ever  danced?  I should  say  I have.  Long, 
and  long  ago.” 

‘‘Where,  madame?” 

“At  the  Waux-Hall.” 

“The  Waux-Hall?  I do  not  even  know  the  place, 
madame.” 

“Worse  luck  for  you  then,  monsieur.” 

“What  did  Madame  dance  at — ye — ye — ye  Waux- 
Hall?  Did  she  dance  the  pavane,  or  the  trenitz,  the 
menace  or  the  minuet?” 

“No,  monsieur,  1 never  even  heard  of  them.  I 
danced  la  fricassee. 

The  professor  shuddered.  He  had  heard  of  the 
fricassee. 

“It  is  a dance  for  porters  and  for — laundresses,” 
he  muttered. 

“I  was  a laundress  when  I danced  it,”  said  she. 
“I  danced  it  with  Lefebvre  the  night  I first  met 
him.” 

And  she  smiled  sweetly  at  the  recollection. 

The  professor  of  elegance  shook  his  little  head 
with  a mournful  air.  “Upon  what  evil  days  I have 
fallen,”  he  said  to  himself.  “ I,  the  dancing  master  of 
Madame  the  Dauphiness,”  and  then  he  turned  to 
Madame  Sans-Gene,  as  sadly  as  if  he  was  going  to  a 
funeral,  and  prepared  to  teach  her  the  rudimentary 
elements  of  that  great  dance,  which  Napoleon  wished 
to  introduce  among  the  festivities  of  his  court. 

In  obedience  to  the  instructions  of  the  professor, 
Madame  Catherine  did  her  best  to  extend  her  arms 
this  way,  to  turn  and  bend  that  way;  to  draw  her 
foot  back,  and  to  put  it  forward  in  time  with  the 
arietta  from  Paesiello,  which  Despreaux  played  upon 
his  little  violin. 

There  might  reasonably  be  some  difference  of 
opinion  as  to  the  way  she  danced,  but  there  could  be 
but  one  opinion  as  to  the  way  she  worked.  She  did 


200 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


everything  she  did  at  all,  conscientiously,  our  Ma- 
dame Sans-G^ne,  but  she  really  felt  like  yawning, 
and  like  laughing  both  at  the  professor  and  herself; 
she  kept  as  grave  as  an  owl,  however.  ‘‘But  this  is 
worse  than  working,”  she  said  to  herself. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  pushed  open  almost  rudely, 
and  Lefebvre  rushed  in. 

He  was  in  full  uniform ; he  wore  all  his  insignia  of 
rank.  In  his  hand  he  held  his  great  plumed  hat, 
across  his  breast  sparkled  the  badge  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  and  across  his  uniform,  with  its  gold  embroid- 
ery, he  wore  the  red  sash  betokening  his  rank. 

He  looked  grand,  but  he  was  terribly  excited. 

“Aha!”  he  shouted  as  he  strode,  or  rather  stag- 
gered like  one  drunk,  into  the  room.  “ Vive  VEm~ 
pereur!^^  and  he  hurled  his  hat  upon  the  floor. 

Then  he  darted  at  his  wife,  who  stopped  her  at- 
tempts at  dancing,  much  relieved  at  the  chance  to 
do  so.  He  kissed  her,  he  hugged  her,  he  held  her 
close. 

“What  in  the  name  of  heaven  has  happened,  Le- 
febvre?” asked  Catherine,  returning  the  embrace. 

The  poor  professor,  who  now  found  that  he  couldn’t 
have  even  one  uninterrupted  chance  to  teach  his  not 
refractory  but  reluctant  pupil,  and  who  was  now 
forced  to  spoil  his  very  best  bow,  which  he  had  been 
trying  his  best  to  impress  on  madame,  advanced 
quickly  to  Lefebvre  in  great  anxiety.  “Monsieur 
le  Marechal,  is  the  emperor  dead?”  he  asked. 

He  could  imagine  no  less  an  event  to  account  for 
the  marshal’s  extraordinary  behavior. 

Lefebvre’s  only  reply  was  a kick — a vigorous  kick. 
It  struck  the  professor  in  the  back,  and  made  him 
squirm,  and  forced  him  to  pirouette  in  a very  undig- 
nified and  unartistic  fashion. 

But  the  dancing  master,  after  all,  was  a thorough- 
bred in  his  line.  He  recovered  his  pose  quickly, 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


201 


sainted  Lefebvre  as  though  he  had  just  been  shaking 
hands  with  him,  and  getting  off  that  ‘^best  bow” 
which  had  just  been  interrupted,  he  asked  blandly: 
‘^Did  Monsieur  le  Marechal 

‘^Come,  Lefebvre,  calm  yourself,”  said  his  wife, 
herself  somewhat  astonished  at  her  husband’s  behav- 
ior; “do  tell  us  what  has  happened.  Monsieur  Des- 
preaux  asks  if  the  emperor  is  dead.  That  is  impos- 
sible I know,  but ” 

“No,  of  course,”  interrupted  Lefebvre,  “the  em- 
peror is  not  dead;  he  cannot  die,  our  emperor.  That, 
as  you  say,  Catherine,  is  impossible,  the  emperor 
will  never  die;  but  it  is  something  else.  We  are  to 
go,  we  are  to  leave  here  at  once,  just  as  we  have 
begun  to  feel  settled  here.” 

“Go!  and  where  to,  my  husband?  I mean,”  she 
added,  looking  comically  at  the  court  dancing  master, 
“Monsieur  le  Marechal.” 

“I  don’t  exactly  know  where,”  replied  Lefebvre, 
looking  distressed  and  bothered,  “but  somewhere. 
It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  us  to  go  somewhere  and 
quickly.  I believe,”  he  added,  “we  are  to  go  to — 
Berlin.” 

“Is  Berlin  far  off?”  asked  our  simple  Catherine, 
who  was  not  as  well  versed  as  she  might  have  been 
in  geography. 

“I  really  don’t  know  myself,”  answered  honest 
Lefebvre,  telling  a white  lie  that  he  might  not  ap- 
pear to  be  wiser  than  his  wife.  “But,”  he  added, 
with  an  air  of  the  most  profound  conviction,  “noth- 
ing is  ‘far’  to  the  emperor.” 

“And  how  soon  must  we  start — next  week?”  she 
asked. 

“Next  week,  indeed,”  he  answered;  “no,  but 
to-morrow.” 

“Impossible!  so  soon,”  she  exclaimed. 

“Impossible?”  said  Lefebvre,  “you  know  the  em- 


203 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


peror  insists  that  ‘impossible’  is  not  a French  word,  f 
But  really,  Catherine,  the  emperor  is  in  a hurry,  i 
even  for  him.  You  see,  the  Prussians  are  in  arms 
against  us,  though  we  have  never  injured  them;  but  \ 
there  is  no  glory  to  be  gained  by  routing  Prussians.” 

Pardonnez  moi!  monsieur,”  interrupted  the  little 
dancing  master,  widening  the  distance  between  the 
marshal’s  boot  and  his  own  body;  “Frederick  the 
Great  was  a Prussian.” 

“ Don’t  know  or  care  anything  about  him,”  said 
Lefebvre  calmly. 

“But,  Lefebvre,  can’t  I go  with  you,  dear?”  asked 
his  wife. 

“If  you  like,”  answered  the  loving  husband, 
“that  is,  as  far  as  the  frontier;  the  emperor  is  going 
to  take  the  empress.  It  is  simply  a walk  over  to 
Berlin  in  uniform.  Still,  as  far  as  my  comfort  goes, 
Catherine,  I must  confess  I would  rather  have  re- 
mained where  we  are.  The  whole  thing  is  so  sudden, 
you  know.  It  is  as  if  a thunderbolt  falls  from  a 
clear  sky;  but  let  us  set  to  work  about  our  departure. 
Have  you  seen  Henriot?” 

“He  is  waiting  for  you,  Lefebvre,  as  you  ordered.” 

“All  right,  Catherine,  bring  him  here,  I shall  pre- 
sent him  to  the  emperor;  perhaps  this  new  movement 
may  advance  him.” 

Catherine  rose  to  bring  in  Henriot,  and  Despr6aux 
gallantly  rose  to  offer  his  services.  He  rushed  to 
open  the  door  for  madame. 

Permittez  moiP'*  he  said,  with  a flourish.  He 
had  no  time  to  say  more,  for  once  again  Lefebvre 
gave  him  a kick,  harder  than  the  first.  “Ton 
idiot,”  growled  the  marshal,  “we  are  military  folk 
here;  no  frills  or  backbreaking,  you  little  acrobat.” 

The  poor  professor  disappeared  hastily,  rubbing 
himself  and  cursing  the  vulgar  times  and  people 
be  had  come  across — he  who  had  taught  the  princi- 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE, 


203 


pies  and  practices  of  stately  courtesy  to  Madame  the 
Dauphiiiess. 

Soon  Catherine  returned  with  ‘Mittle  Henriot,’’ 
now  a young  man,  and  a sub-lieutenant,  eager  to 
fight  for  France  if  Napoleon  permitted.  “But,”  as 
Lefebvre  remarked,  “it  was  not  such  an  easy  thing 
to  be  allowed  even  to  die  for  the  emperor.”  But 
Catherine  determined  to  see  the  Empress  Josephine, 
and  ask  her  to  use  her  influence  to  allow  Henriot  to 
accompany  the  army  to  Berlin.  “I  will  ask  her  this 
very  day;  there  is  to  be  a review  of  the  imperial 
guard,”  said  Catherine. 

It  was  the  close  of  September,  1806;  the  French 
ertipire  then  comprised  two-thirds  of  Europe.  Na- 
poleon sat  on  a throne  constructed  of  trophies  and 
standards,  from  which  he  ruled  not  only  peoples  but 
kings.  All  the  members  of  his  family  occupied  ex- 
alted stations,  yet  not  one  of  them  was  satisfied,  and 
his  sisters  were  always  jealous  of  each  other. 

“It  would  really  seem,”  Napoleon  once  remarked, 
“as  though  they  thought  I had  defrauded  them  of 
their  inheritance  from  the  late  king,  our  father.” 

The  review  took  place,  and  Napoleon  inspected 
his  soldiers  with  even  more  than  his  usual  care.  He 
noticed  specially  the  drum  major  of  the  grenadiers, 
tall,  straight,  yet  boyish  looking. 

“Your  name?”  he  asked,  of  the  drum  major. 

“La  Violette,  sire,”  answered  the  young  giant  in 
a soft  voice. 

“ Where  have  you  served?” 

“Everywhere,  sire.” 

“ Trh  iienV'^  said  the  emperor,  who  liked  short 
answers.  “Do  you  know  Berlin?” 

“No,  sire.” 

“Would  you  like  to  go  there?” 

“I  would  like  to  go,  sire,  wherever  my  emperor 
wishes.” 


204 


MADAME  SAJSrS-GENE. 


“Well  said,  La  Violette;  get  ready  your  drum  and 
drumsticks.  In  a month  from  to-day  you  shall  be  the 
first  Frenchman  to  enter  the  Prussian  capital.  But 
how  tall  you  are — tall  as  a poplar.” 

“And  you,  sire,  are  as  tall  as  the  whole  world.” 

The  emperor  smiled;  he  liked  compliments.  La 
Violette’s  fortune  was  assured. 

When  the  drums  ceased  to  beat  that  morning  a 
great  shout  arose  from  that  forest  of  men,  strong  as 
oaks,  many  of  them  destined  never  to  return  from 
that  Berlin  to  which  their  master,  “ the  butcher  of 
Europe”  was  about  to  lead  them. 

“ Vive  V Em'pereurV'* 

“I  believe  my  cousin,  the  king  of  Prussia,  will 
soon  be  sorry  he  provoked  my  wrath,”  said  Napoleon 
to  Lefebvre.  “With  such  men  I might  war  against 
the  Almighty  and  his  archangels.  Embrace  your 
wife,  marshal;  we  leave  to-night.” 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  SECRET  SOCIETY  OF  LA  RUE  BOURG  L’ABBE — 
THE  PLAN  OF  LEONIDAS — LEFEBVRE  TRIES  TO 
UNDERSTAND— THE  ENTRY  INTO  BERLIN. 

In  the  center  of  Paris,  in  the  Rue  Bourg  PAbbe, 
peopled  by  a colony  of  laborers  in  single  rooms, 
on  the  night  of  the  day  when  Napoleon  reviewed  his 
troops  at  Saint-Cloud,  seven  or  eight  men  were  as- 
sembled in  a cabinet-maker’s  shop  secretly;  and 
eight  or  ten  more  joined  them  later  on,  each  man 
taking  the  utmost  precautions  to  avoid  being  seen 
entering. 

Major  Marcel,  already  introduced  to  our  readers, 
presided  over  the  meeting,  which  was  held  by  the 
secret  society,  the  Philadelphes,  founded  by  Colonel 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


205 


Joseph  Oudet^  Avhich  embraced  not  only  republicans 
but  royalists,  not  only  Frenchmen  but  foreigners. 

This  society  was  based  on  and  called  after  a society 
in  Philadelphia,  United  States,  and  extended  all  over 
Europe.  The  members  took  the  names  of  the  great 
men  of  ancient  times;  Aristotle,  Socrates,  etc.;  and 
their  emblem  was  a star — like  that  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor. 

The  society  was  at  this  time  an  association  of  con- 
spirators who  had  resolved  to  assassinate  Napoleon. 
And  they  were  now  addressed  by  a new  arrival,  a 
‘‘patriot,”  who  was  called  Leonidas,  a stranger,  but 
introduced  to  the  society  by  the  chairman,  Marcel. 

This  individual  began  by  vehemently,  passionately 
abusing  Napoleon,  and  recommending  his  “removal” 
as  the  only  cure  for  the  evils  he  had  caused,  justify- 
ing assassination  as  “the  supreme  recourse.” 

His  views  were  vehemently  applauded,  and  it  was 
resolved  to  “execute”  the  emperor  in  the  name  and 
in  the  behalf  of  the  “liberty”  he  had  abused. 

In  the  midst  of  the  proceedings  Marcel’s  constant 
companion,  Renee,  gave  the  alarm.  The  agents  of 
the  secret  police,  headed  by  [Dubois  and  Fouche, 
were  at  the  door. 

But  the  Philadelphes  were  prepared  for  this  con- 
tingency. The  floor  of  the  room  in  which  they 
assembled  had  a well-concealed  trapdoor,  which  led 
down  to  an  entrance  into  a side  street.  They  fled, 
but  Leonidas,  whose  real  name  was  General  Malus, 
was  among  the  last  to  leave. 

When  the  police  burst  open  the  door  they  found 
an  empty  room. 

The  emperor  was  winning  glory  abroad,  but  he 
had  to  pay  its  price;  he  had  enemies  to  the  death  at 
home. 

The  war  against  Prussia  had  now  commenced  in 
earnest.  For  this  conflict  Prussia  was  not  prepared, 


206 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE, 


whereas  France  The  result  was  simple  enough; 

Napoleon  covered  himself  and  his  army  with  glory. 

And  amid  the  emperor’s  followers  marched  La 
Violette. 

Napoleon  met  him  one  day,  and  recognized  him. 
The  great  man  had  the  rare  faculty  of  remembering 
faces  and  names.  “Ah!”  said  the  Man  of  Destiny 
to  the  tall  gawk  of  a drum  major,  “you  are  La 
Violette.” 

“Yes,  sire,  on  the  route  to  Berlin,  by  your  maj- 
esty’s orders.” 

‘‘ Bien!  drum  major,  I adhere  to  my  promise;  you 
shall  be  the  first  man  to  enter  Berlin.” 

“Sire!”  cried  La  Violettte,  sadly,  “I  shall  not  be 
able  to  take  with  me  all  my  prisoners.” 

“ Tlhs prisoners J loliat  prisoners?”  Napoleon  asked, 
amazed. 

“Oh,  the  prisoners  I captured  myself,  sire;  there 
they  all  are,”  pointing  as  he  spoke  to  a hut  near  by. 
“I  have  shut  the  door  on  them,  and  I am  keeping 
guard.” 

It  was  a fact;  La  Violette  spoke  the  truth.  He 
had  managed  to  take,  while  off  their  guard  and  by 
deceiving  them  as  to  the  number  of  their  antagonists, 
and  by  depriving  them  of  their  weapons,  to  keep  a 
number  of  prisoners.  He  had  done  all  this  alone, 
unaided. 

Napoleon  rode  up  to  the  big,  boyish  drum  major. 

“Who  gave  you  authority  to  take  prisoners  of 
war?”  he  cried  “Ah,  hienl  wait  a little,  I will  pay 
you  their  ransom.” 

And  he  presented  La  Violette  on  the  spot  with 
the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

“Ah!”  said  La  Violette  to  himself,  after  a mo- 
ment’s profound  thought,  “after  all  I am  not  a 
coward,  even  by  daylight.  This  cross  here  proves 
it” 


MADAME  SANS-QENE 


207 


On  October  8,  a French  army  under  Murat  began 
firing  upon  Schleitz. 

On  the  10th  an  engagement  took  place  at  Saalfield, 
^vhere  Prince  Louis  of  Prussia  fell,  and  from  whence 
Marshal  Lannes  mfarched  on  to  Jena.  And  on  Octo- 
ber 13,  Napoleon  himself  arrived  at  Jena  in  person. 
From  his  headquarters  he  sent  Eapp,  ^his  aide-de- 
camp,  to  find  Marshal  Lefebvre. 

The  latter  soon  arrived  and  entered  quietly,  his 
uniform  torn,  and  the  gilt  on  his  coat  all  black  with 
gunpowder. 

Napoleon  shook  his  hand.  ‘‘Well,  dear  old  Le- 
febvre,” he  said,  “wo  have  made  a good  thing  of 
this;  is  it  not  so?” 

“Sire,”  said  Lefebvre,  “with  you  and  with  my 
men,  we  could  always  do  well. 

“Ah!  sire,”  he  continued,  “you  gave  me  long  ago 
a saber  from  the  Pyramids;  you  would  not  do  ill  to 
give  me  another,  the  old  one  is  used  up.  See,  it  is 
like  a corkscrew^” 

“Well,  Lefebvre,  in  place  of  your  sword  you  shall 
have  a rapier.  But,”  pointing  to  a chart  on  a 
table  in  his  tent,  the  emperor  said  to  his  marshal: 
“ That  is  a fine  piece  of  work.” 

“Ah,  indeed,”  remarked  Lefebvre.  He  knew  and 
cared  no  more  about  charts  than  he  did  about  Sanskrit. 

“It  is  a plan  of  the  town  of  Dantzig,”  continued 
the  emperor. 

“Indeed,  I do  not  know  anything  about  Dantzig, 
sire,”  said  the  marshal.  He  had  little  faith  in  draw- 
ings on  paper;  ho  believed  only  in  fighting  in 
person. 

“Well,  you  must  learn  everything  about  it,  my 
dear  Lefebvre,”  said  the  emperor.  “It  is  the  most 
important  commercial  point  on  the  Vistula.  I will 
need  the  town  as  a base  of  supplies  when  we  go  to 
fight  the  Russians.  It  is  strongly  fortified,  and  is 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


a08 

impregnable.  Nobody  can  take  it;  therefore 

the  very  reason  why  I give  it  to  you  to^take.” 

Lefebvre  became  all  animation  now"  “Ah,  I see, 
I must  take  it,”  he  cried;  “then,  sire,  I will  take  it, 
with  my  grenadiers,  of  course.” 

“No,”  said  Napoleon,  “but  with  Mis,”  pointing  to 
the  chart.  “ How  stupid  yon  are,  Lefebvre,  almost 
as  dull  as  you  are  brave.” 

But  after  awhile  the  marshal  began  to  understand. 

“Ah,  I shall  write  to  my  wife  and  tell  her  how 
kind  you  have  been  to  me  again— about  this  Dantzig, 
sire,”  he  said  gratefully. 

“Your  wife,  Sans-G6ne,”  said  Napoleon,  rather 
disdainfully,  “you  still  think  as  much  as  ever  of  your 
wife,  eh,  Lefebvre?” 

“More,  sire,  if  possible,”  replied  the  marshal. 
“Catherine  and  I love  like  a pair  of  children.  We 
are  the  same  lovers  to-day  as  when  I was  laundress 
and  she  was  sergeant— I mean  when  I was  sergeant 

and  she  was  laundress,  before  we  dreamed Oh, 

sire,  I only  know  and  love  three  things:  my  em- 
peror, my  flag,  my  wife — but  these  three  are  enough.” 

“It  is  as  it  should  be,  Lefebvre,”  said  the  emperor, 
not  pursuing  the  subject  of  his  wife  any  further. 
“When  you  have  taken  Dantzig  I shall  bestow  a new 
favor  on  the  former  laundress  whom  you  continue  to 
love  so  well.  But  now  we  must  both  to  our  business 
— on  to  Berlin.” 

And  on  the  27th  of  October,  1806,  Berlin  was  the 
center  of  a glorious  spectacle.  Like  the  legions  of 
old  Kome,  the  armies  of  new  Prance  made  the  entry 
into  the  conquered  capital,  and  La  Violette  was  at 
the  head. 

It  was  a great  day  for  France  and  for  La  Violette. 
He  made  a speech  on  the  sidewalk  to  the  crowd. 

“Listen  to  me,  children  of  Berlin,”  he  squeaked. 
“France  is  the  one  finest  country  in  the  world;  the 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


209 


army  is  the  one  best  thing  in  France;  the  first  regi- 
ment of  grenadiers  is  the  best  thing  in  the  French 
army;  and  I am,  all  things  considered,  the  best  man 
in  the  first  regiment  of  grenadiers.  Look  therefore 
upon  me,  children  of  Prussia,  regardez  moi  hien^ 
mes  enfants;  you  are  looking  at  the  greatest  man  on 
earth,  save  one,  the  emperor.  Vive  V empereiirP'*  And 
then  he  strutted  off,  saying  to  himself,  with  a sigh: 
‘‘Oh!  if  Catherine  Sans-Gene  were  but  here.  Oh! 
if  only  Madame  la  Marechale  could  but  see  me  now!” 

Napoleon,  having  conquered  Berlin,  governed  it. 
He  maintained  discipline  in  the  army,  he  protected 
the  citizens,  and  he  acted  liberally  toward  the  Prince 
de  Hatzfeld,  the  burgomaster  of  Berlin.  He  re- 
spected the  latter’s  office,  only  exacting  a parole  of 
honor  from  the  prince  that  he  would  do  naught  to 
interfere  with  Prance  or  the  French  while  in  office. 
The  prince  accepted  Napoleon’s  conditions,  and 
Berlin  was  for  the  time  being,  like  Paris,  a French 
capital. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  PROMOTION  OF  HENRIOT — THE  PAROLE  OF  A 
PRUSSIAN — THE  LOVES  OF  NAPOLEON  AND  THE 
SECRET  OF  JOSEPHINE — MONSIEUR  LE  DUG  DE 
DANTZIG. 

At  the  very  first  opportunity  Marshal  Lefebvre 
presented  to  his  emperor  his  adopted  son,  Henriot. 

Napoleon  eyed  the  youth  profoundly ; he  seemed 
to  like  his  looks. 

‘^1  adopted  the  boy  upon  the  field  of  battle,  sire,” 
said  Lefebvre,  “at  Jemmapes.” 

“Ah!”  said  the  soldier-emperor  to  Lefebvre,  “that 


210 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


■was  a fine  battle,  that  Jemniapes.  A good  debut 
for  you^  young  lieutenant,”  remarked  Kapoleon  to 
young  Henriot. 

“In  what  regiment  did  you  say,  sire?”  asked  Hen- 
riot  quickly. 

The  emperor  smiled;  he  liked  people  to  be  bright, 
keen,  quick.  He  became  interested  in  young  Henriot 
for  his  own  sake  as  well  as  for  his  adopted  father’s; 
he  listened  to  his  story.  After  all,  Henriot  had  already 
had  his  adventures,  and  had  acquitted  himself  well. 
In  one  affair  at  Stettin  he  had  behaved  mrost  bravely. 
The  emperor  heard  of  it  now  and  was  charmed  at 
the  recital.  He  congratulated  the  lad  on  his  courage; 
he  congratulated  Lefebvre  on  having  adopted  such  a 
son.  He  appointed  the  young  warrior  to  a high 
command  upon  the  spot;  he  bestowed  upon  him 
every  mark  of  honor.  Lefebvre  and  Henriot  were 
in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight  and  adoration. 

As  father  and  son  walked  to  their  quarters  along 
the  streets  of  Berlin  in  joyous  mood,  they  passed  the 
palace  where  resided  the  Prince  de  Hatzfeld.  Here 
Lefebvre  paused;  he  had  a surprise  in  store  for 
Henriot. 

“Do  you  remember  your  little  playmate,  Alice?” 
he  asked  of  Henriot,  who  started,  then  blushed. 

“Well,  she  lives  here;  she  has  been  taken  care  of 
in  her  loneliness  and  poverty  by  the  Princess  de 
Hatzfeld,  who  was  a friend  of  the  Beaurepaires;  she 
is  with  her  in  that  house,  at  this  moment,”  said 
Lefebvre. 

“Alice  here!  what  happiness!”  cried  Henriot. 

“Yes,”  said  Lefebvre;  “she  saw  us,  when  we  en- 
tered Berlin;  spoke  to  the  princess  about  us;  and  so 
we  are  invited  to  dine  to-day  at  the  Hatzfeld  palace. 
You  will  not  be  sorry  to  see  her  at  dinner,  I take  it.” 
Henriot  was  overjoyed  to  renew  his  acquaintance 
with  his  former  young  playfellow.  In  his  heart  he 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


211 


felt  he  loved  her  as  dearly  as  when  they  played 
together  in  the  canteen  wagon. 

The  discovery  of  her  presence  here  was  even  more 
to  this  trne-hearted  young  soldier  than  his  own  recent 
promotion. 

The  two  men,  father  and  son,  called  afc  the  muni- 
cipal palace  and  were  kindly  received  by  Madame  la 
Princesse  de  Hatzfeld. 

But;  the  prince  himself  was  silent  and  morose, 
though  keenly  watchful. 

Henriot,  however,  heeded  not  the  affability  of  the 
one,  nor  the  almost  repellent  reserve  of  the  other;  he 
had  only  eyes  and  ears  for  Alice,  who  was  as  glad 
apparently  to  see  him  once  more,  as  he  was  to  feast 
his  sight  upon  her  again. 

Old  associations  are  the  strongest  of  all  earthly 
ties;  so  altogether  independent  of  their  own  youth 
and  good  looks,  they  were  attracted  irresistibly  unto 
each  other. 

In  talking  and  recalling  the  past  they  soon  forgot 
the  lapse  of  time,  but  suddenly  Lefebvre,  who  felt 
it  necessary  to  make  his  preparations  to  leave  for 
Dantzig  at  once,  as  the  emperor  had  ordered,  took 
his  departure.  He  was  followed  by  young  Henriot 
who,  however,  in  bidding  adieu  to  Alice,  imprudently 
disclosed  Lefebvre’s  present  plans,  and  hinted  at 
going  to  Dantzig.  The  Prince  de  Hatzfeld  watched 
the  young  lovers  closely,  and  caught  their  conversa- 
tion. He  even  played  the  eavesdropper,  and  was 
caught  by  Henriot  on  going  out,  listening  behind  the 
door. 

The  Prussian  prince  was  aware  that  the  French 
emperor  dealt  largely  in  “surprises”  which  always 
heralded  some  important  political  or  military  move- 
ment. He  felt  convincerl  that  it  was  some  “ surprise” 
which  had  called  away  the  marshal  and  his  adopted 
son  so  early  from  this  dinner  party — some  surprise 


212 


MADAME  SAJSrS-GEME. 


•which  betokened  some  military  maneuver  against  his 
countrymen,  the  Prussians. 

So  forgetting,  in  his  anxiety  about  his  own  people, 
the  parole  of  honor  he  had  given  to  the  French 
emperor  not  to  interfere  in  any  political  or  military 
matter,  the  Prince  de  Hatzfeld  having  listened  and 
discovered  that  plans  were  on  foot  for  the  capture 
of  Dantzig,  sent  word  by  letter  to  the  Prussians  of 
this  step  in  contemplation,  thus  putting  them  on 
their  guard. 

The  news  sent  by  the  prince  would  have  indeed 
been  invaluable  to  the  Prussians  had  they  received 
it.  But  they  did  not,  for  Henriot  having  told 
Lefebvre  how  he  had  caught  the  prince  listening,  the 
message  was  intercepted  by  Lefebvre’s  scouts,  and 
the  prince  himself  was  arrested  and  condemned  for 
treason  against  the.  French,  and  for  violating  his 
parole  of  honor,  to  instant  death.  But  the  Princess 
de  Hatzfeld  so  strongly  enlisted  the  feelings  of  her 
protegee  and  ward,  Alice,  and  Alice  so  strongly 
enlisted  the  feelings  of  her  new-found  comrade  and 
lover,  and  Henriot  so  earnestly  entreated  the  good 
offices  of  his  stepfather,  Lefebvre,  that  j^apoleon  was 
at  last  with  great  difficulty  induced  to  yield  to  their 
triple  pleas  for  clemency,  ani  to  remit  the  death 
sentence — an  act  of  noble  clemency  which  forms  a 
bright  page  in  his  history. 

Dantzig  itself,  Dantzig  long  considered  “the  im- 
pregnable,” was  taken  at  last  by  the  man  to  whom 
Napoleon  had  entrusted  the  apparently  impossible 
task.  Marshal  Lefebvre,  and  after  the  capture  of  the 
town,  the  marshal  was  made  happy  by  the  coming  of 
his  wife  to  visit  him,  an  event  which  really  gave  him 
more  delight  than  the  taking  of  the  town. 

Catherine  came  to  Dantzig  first  to  see  her  husband, 
but  she  also  had  another  motive  of  the  most  delicate 
nature. 


MADAME  SAN8-GEME. 


S13 


The  Empress  Josephine,  though  fully  aware  by 
this  time  of  her  great  husband’s  love,  was  also  well 
aware  that  she  had  many  enemies — Fouche,  chief 
of  Napoleon’s  secret  police,  among  the  number — and 
that  one  strong  point  with  her  foes  was  that  she  had 
given  the  emperor  no  heir. 

Her  daughter  Hortensehad  given  birth  to  a bright 
boy,  Napoleon  Charles,  whom  Napoleon  intended,  if 
he  could  do  no  better,  to  adopt  as  his  successor.  But 
this  child  had  died,  and  Josephine  was  in  despair 
thereat  until  she  ascertained  that  one  of  the  ladies  of 
her  court  who  had  been  one  of  Napoleon’s  sub-rosa  par- 
amours, had  given  birth  to  a son  who  was  the  very 
image  of  his  imperial  parent.  This  un wedded 
mother’s  name  was  Mile.  Elenore,  an  elegant  bru- 
nette, with  magnificent  eyes.  Josephine  had  for 
years  been  aware  of  her  husband’s  occasional  lapses 
from  conjugal  morality,  but  being  also  aware  that 
she  really  was  the  only  woman  who  had,  as  yet,  any 
hold  upon  his  affections,  and  knowing  that  her  child- 
lessness removed  from  her  the  right  of  complaint, 
had  submitted  to  this  state  of  affairs.  She  even  was 
willing  now  to  avail  herself  of  this,  her  rival’s  child, 
and  to  present  him  as  her  own,  with  Napoleon’s  con- 
sent. And  it  was  to  interview  the  emperor  on  this 
delicate  point  that  Catherine,  la  Marechale  Lefebvre, 
had  on  this  occasion  ostensibly  visited  her  lord  and 
master. 

She,  of  course,  revealed  her  mission  to  her  hus- 
band, who  sympathized  with  Josephine  in  her  pre- 
dicament. “Oh,”  he  said,  “if  science  could  only 
give  the  emperor  a son.” 

“But  science  canH^^'"  said  Catherine.  “It  takes 
more  than  doctors  to  give  the  emperor  a successor, 
and  even  the  doctors,  in  this  case,  seem  to  have  lost 
their  skill.  But,”  continued  Catherine,  “at  least 
the  empress  has  done  all  she  can,  she  is  beyond  sus- 


214 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


picion,  thongli  nol  reproach.  She  has  not  only  loved  | 
her  husband,  but  she  has  consulted  all  sorts  of  people,  ; 
fortune  tellers  and  sorcerers,  demanding  some  rem- 
edy, some  elixir,  some  drug,  some  something  or  any- 
thing that  will  make  her  a mother.  She  has  taken 
the  waters  at  Luxeuil  and  Plombieres  which  are 
reputed  to  have  the  power  to  produce  maternity. 

But  all  in  vain.” 

‘‘Well,  I can  vouch,”  said  Lebefvre,  “that  the 
emperor  has  done  all  he  can  do  to  become  a father, 
at  home  or  elsewhere.  But  none  of  his  ladies,  little 
Foures,  for  example,  Belliote,  his  pretty  companion 
in  Egypt,  Signora  Granini,  Mile.  George,  his  court 
ladies  of  honor,  none  of  these  have  brought  any  heir 
to  Napoleon,  though  they  were  all  very  willing,  for 
the  sake  of  their  own  importance;  but  none  of  them 
has  ever  charged  him  with  being  a father.” 

“And  meanwhile,”  said  Catherine,  “his  brother 
Lucien  and  Talleyrand  advise  the  emperor  to  get  a 
divorce  and  marry  some  European  princess.  The 
empress  knows  this  and  so  she  has  sent  me  to  see 
how  the  emperor  feels  about  it.” 

Lefebvre  did  not  like  the  task  that  Catherine  had 
undertaken,  but  as  she  had  promised,  of  course,  she 
must  keep  her  word. 

Catherine,  we  may  be  sure,  fulfilled  her  mis- 
sion with  all  possible  rapidity  and  honesty,  and 
discharged  her  task  as  probably  no  other  woman  in 
the  world  could.  But  even  she  was  not  as  successful 
as  Josephine  expected,  or  rather  hoped.  Napoleon 
on  his  side  had  his  own  secrets.  He  had  been 
somewhat  weaned  by  his  various  mistresses  from 
his  originally  violent,  passionate  love  for  Jose- 
phine. 

Various  books  and  papers  have  been  written  by 
men  and  women  by  the  Duchess  D’Abrantes,  De 
Bourienne,  etc.,  on  the  loves  of  Napoleon,  meaning 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


215 


his  illicit  loves;  but  no  author  or  authoress  ius  ever 
done  the  subject  justice. 

The  fact  is  that  Napoleon,  though  passionate,  was 
never  constant,  and  for  years  he  had  been  merely  the 
dearest,  kindest,  tenderest  friend  to,  and  partner  of, 
Josephine — no  nJore.  The  wild  delirium  of  his  early 
married  life  had  subsided,  and  he  had  sought  tempo- 
rary distractions  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  a child- 
less home. 

Josephine’s  early  escapades  during  his  campaign 
in  Italy  had  been  reported  to  him  by  her  enemies 
at  court;  and  Fouche,  always  opposed  to  her,  had 
on  several  occasions  suggested  divorce,  but  it  was 
really  her  and  his  childlessness  which  had  rendered 
Bonaparte  unfaithful. 

The  list  of  Napoleon’s  loves  is  long  and  interesting. 
First,  during  his  campaign  in  Italy,  he  carried  on  an 
intrigue  with  a Madame  Turrau,  the  wife  of  an  ad- 
herent of  his  cause,  whom  he  afterward  rewarded  for 
his  convenient  blindness  by  an  office. 

Then  in  his  Egyptian  campaign,  he  met  at  Cairo 
(while  at  a ball  given  at  the  Tivoli,  a garden  like  the 
Waux-Hall),  a Parisian  modiste,  a woman  by  the 
name  of  Marguerite  Pauline  Belliote,  who  had  mar- 
ried a man  named  Foures.  She  was  a petite,  pretty, 
vivacious  blonde,  who  had  for  awhile  worn  male  cos- 
tume, and  looked  bewitching  as  a man. 

Napoleon  became  captivated,  and  having  finally 
overcome  her  scruples,  he  sent  her  husband  back  to 
France,  ‘‘on  a political  mission  of  great  importance,” 
and  then  giving  a dinner  in  her  honor,  installed  her 
in  state  as  his  mistress. 

The  husband  returning  from  his  “mission”  too 
soon,  saw  how  he  had  been  deceived  and  applied  for 
a divorce.  Bonaparte  seriously  loved  this  woman 
and  promised  her  if  she  had  a child,  to  marry  her 
and  divorce  himself  from  Josephine,  but  she  was 


216 


MADAME  SAJSfS-OENE. 


never  able  to  claim  this  promise.  He  always  provided  '' 
for  her  well,  however,  but  in  the  end  she  proved  ^ 
alike  unfaithful  and  ungrateful. 

His  next  “affair”  was  with  Granini,  the  opera  < 
sipger,  who  afterward  (such  are  the  strange  vicissi-  ; 
tudes  and  transformation  scenes  of  fate),  became  the  ' 
mistress  of  Napoleon’s  conqueror,  the  Duke  of  Well- 
ington. 

Then  he  made  love  oi  passant  to  Mile.  Brancha, 
of  the  opera,  Paris;  Mile.  Bourgeois,  the  dancer; 
and  Mile.  George,  the  famous  actress,  who  remained 
always  his  friend  and  admirer. 

And  in  course  of  time,  after  many  palace  intrigues, 
he  established  personal  relations  with  the  famous,  or 
infamous,  adventuress,  Madame  de  Vauday. 

She  was  at  that  time  one  of  the  ladies  of  honor 
attendant  on  Josephine;  she  “bled”  Napoleon 
freely. 

One  night  she  sent  him  a despairing  note,  stating 
that  she  needed  a large  sum  of  money,  and  as  she 
did  not  dare  to  hope  that  her  needs  could  be  sup- 
plied, she  had  resolved  to  kill  herself. 

The  emperor  at  once  sent  her  the  sum  she  “needed” 
and  a love  message  with  it,  but  she  never  got  the 
money,  for  the  faithful  aide-de-camp  by  whom  he 
sent  it,  came  back  and  reported  that  he  had  found 
the  despairing,  desperate,  would-be  suicide  giving  a 
sumptuous  dinner  party  to  some  gentlemen  friends  at 
her  cozy  retreat,  which  Napoleon  was  paying  for,  at 
Auteuil. 

Among  Josephine’s  maids  there  was  a Mile.  Felicite 
Lacorte,  who  shared  with  her  mistress  the  emperor’s 
favors.  Likewise  a “reader”  by  the  name  of  Gaz- 
zoni,  and  a “writer”  by  the  name  of  Suillebeau.  The 
last  mentioned  lady  lost  her  “position”  through  a 
letter  her  mother  sent  to  her,  but  which  fell  into  the 
emperor’s  hands.  The  letter  simply  told  the  one  it 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


217 


was  addressed  to,  to  make  hay  while  the  son  shone, 
as  it  never  shone  very  long. 

Finally  there  came  upon  the  scene,  ‘‘the  true 
mistress”  of  his  heart,  and  the  woman  who  loved 
him  truly,  the  Countess  Walewski,  known  all  over 
Europe  as  “the  beautiful  Pole.”  This  woman  was  a 
sincere  patriot;  had  married  a Polish  count  of  sev- 
enty years  in  preference  to  one  of  the  Eussian  op- 
pressors of  her  country  of  only  twenty  five  years, 
and  fell  in  love  with  Napoleon,  as  much  on  account 
of  his  war  with  Kussia,  as  for  himself. 

She  became  his  mistress  from  patriotism,  but  con- 
tinued the  relation  from  affection.  She  bore  him  a 
son  (afterward  Count  Walewski  of  the  second  empire) 
and  remained  faithful  till  the  last. 

No  wonder  that  with  all  these  distractions,  his 
love  for  Josephine  had  waned,  no  wonder  that  for 
the  sake  of  an  heir  he  was  willing  to  divorce  a wife. 


Yes,  Catherine’s  mission  was  not  an  unqualified 
success. 

But  she  managed  to  have  her  usual  complement  of 
adventures  nevertheless.  The  young  Henriot  in  one 
of  his  expeditions  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the 
Prussians  beyond  Berlin,  and  under  such  circum- 
stances that  he  was  justly,  under  the  laws  of  war, 
liable  to  death  as  a spy.  Lefebvre  was,  of  course, 
distracted  at  the  news.  Alice  was  wild  with  grief 
and  fear,  but  Catherine  determined  “to  go  and  do 
something,”  as  she  expressed  it.  “I  will  get  the  boy 
free,”  she  said,  “if  I have  to  see  his  own  real  father 
to  do  it,”  and  she  kept  her  word.  Lefebvre  himself, 
who,  though  he  loved  and  missed  the  young  Henriot 
much,  loved  and  would  miss  his  wife  much  more,  in 
vain  endeavored  to  dissuade  her  from  her  purpose. 
Catherine  could  be  as  obstinate  as  a mule  when  she 
chose,  and  she  chose  this  time.  Accompanied  by 


218 


MADAME  BANB-GENE, 


the  ever-faithfnl  and  more  than  ever  valiant  La  I 
Violette,  Catherine  secretly  left  the  French  lines  and  | 
penetrated  into  the  very  heart  of  the  Prussian  camp.  | 
There  she,  with  infinite  care  and  difficulty,  saw  1 
Henriot  himself.  There  she  met  and  recalled  her-  * i 
self  to  the  youthful  and  unhappy  Alice,  and  there,  1 
above  all,  she  met  for  the  third  time  in  their  event-  | 
ful  careers,  with  the  Count  de  Neipperg,  who,  by  , ^ 
the  irony  of  fate,  had  the  control  of  Henriot’s  des-  : 
tiny,  and  had  doomed  him  to  perish  as  a spy.  i 

In  vain  Catherine  pleaded  for  the  young  man’s 
life,  in  vain  she  demanded  his  safety  as  a return  for  ; 
her  own  past  services  to  De  Neipperg.  The  Austrian 
nobleman  reluctantly  was  compelled  from  a sense  of 
duty  to  his  country,  to  refuse  her  request.  ;> 

Then  Catherine  at  last  fell  back  upon  her  secret 
and  human  nature.  She  revealed  to  De  Neipperg 
the  fact  that  this  Henriot  whom  he  was  to  shoot  as  a 
spy,  was  his  own  and  Blanche’s  child. 

De  Neipperg  denied  this  at  first,  insisted  that  ' 
‘‘little  Henriot”  had  been  long  dead  and  buried, 
having  been  blown  up  by  a powder  explosion  in  the 
ruins  of  the  baron’s  chateau  near  Jemmapes,  after  | 
the  battle,  but  Catherine  soon  convinced  him  that 
he  was  under  a mistake,  and  that  she  had  rescued, 
adopted,  and  reared  the  deserted  child,  whom  he  was 
about  to  kill.  ; 

And  then  De  Neipperg  naturally  became  as  deter- 
mined to  save  the  young  man  as  he  had  been  to 
destroy  him. 

He  saw  his  child,  revealed  his  relationship,  and 
gratified  for  the  moment  his  paternal  love.  But, 
alas!  a new  complication  now  arose. 

De  Neipperg  had  conceived  the  idea  of  saving 
Henriot  without  violating  the  rules  of  war,  by '^claim- 
ing him  as  an  Austrian  subject,  as  he  really  was, 
from  one  point  of  view — his  father  being  an  Austrian.  ; 


MADAME  SANSr-GENE. 


219 


But  young  Henriot’s  high  sense  of  honor,  and  the 
love  that  he  had  been  taught  to  feel  for  France  here 
interfered-  ‘‘I  am  not,  1 cannot  be  a German,”  he 
insisted,  ‘‘for  I have  not  only  a French  heart,  but  I 
was  born  on  French  soil.  Besides,  the  only  father 
and  mother  I have  ever  known  are  French;  so  as  a 
Frenchman  I have  lived,  a Frenchman  I will  die.” 

All  attempts  to  change  this  determination  were  in 
vain,  and  to  the  intense  grief  of  his  father.  Count  de 
Neipperg,  his  sweetheart,  Alice,  his  friends,  the  De 
Hatzfelds,  and  his  foster-mother,  Catherine,  the 
young  man  would  have  been  shot  as  a French  spy  by 
the  Prussians,  had  not  the  Prussians  in  the  nick  of 
time  been  routed  and  captured  by  the  French  (and 
La  Violette)  under  Marshal  Lefebvre,  the  hero  of 
Dantzig. 


On  the  26th  of  May,  Marshal  Lefebvre  made  his 
official  entry  into  Dantzig.  He  had  invited  his  two 
colleagues.  Marshal  Lannes  and  Marshal  Mortier  to 
ride  beside  him,  and  share  his  honors,  but  both  re- 
fused on  the  ground  that  Lefebvre  having  done  all 
the  work  was  entitled  to  all  the  glory. 

The  moral  and  material  results  of  the  capture  of 
Dantzig  were  alike  immensely  important. 

Two  days  after  Lefebvre’s  entry  into  the  town 
Napoleon  visited  the  place.  He  gave  a dinner  to  his 
generals  and  placed  Lefebvre  at  his  right  hand  at 
the  banquet. 

While  Lannes,  Mortier  and  the  other  high  officers 
awaited  the  emperor.  Grand  Marshal  Duroc  entered 
bearing  a sword,  the  hilt  of  which  fairly  blazed  with 
diamonds.  With  him  came  an  officer  carrying  a cor- 
onet on  a cushion. 

During  the  dinner  the  emperor  asked  Duroc  to 
“request  the  Duke  of  Dantzig  to  kneel  and  receive 
the  investiture.” 


220 


MADAME  SAN8-GEME. 


I', 

All  eyes  turned  to  Lefebvre,  who  himself  looked  ‘ 
all  around  him  to  see  this  Duke  of  Dantzig,  of  whom  < 
he  had  not  yet  heard. 

Duroc  whispered  to  Lefehvre,  ‘‘Kneel.” 

Then  the  truth  dawned  on  the  hrave,  hut  modest 
man. 

He  was  to  he  the  Duke  of  Dantzig,  the  coronet 
and  jeweled  sword  were  his. 

His  emperor,  after  honoring,  embraced  him. 

But  Lefebvre  seemed  anxious  to  eat.  “Are  you 
so  hungry?”  asked  Duroc.  “No,”  replied  the  new 
duke,  “but  you  know,  the  sooner  the  emperor  lets 
us  dine,  the  sooner  I can  gratify  my  wild  desire  to  be 
the  first  to  embrace  and  congratulate  the  Duchess  of 
Dantzig.” 


MADAME  8ANS-0ENE. 


221 


BOOK  FIFTH. 

MADAME  LA  DUCHESSE. 

CHAPTEE  XXVL 

THE  SALON  OF  AN  EMPRESS  AND  THE  REVENGE  OF^ 
CATHERINE  SANS-GENE. 

The  emperor  was  expected  at  the  French  capital. 

Victorious,  master  of  Europe,  having  forced  his 
will  on  even  Eussia,  and  his  friendship  on  even 
Prussia,  he  returned  to  his  adoring  Paris. 

Meanwhile  a State  function,  had  been  arranged  in 
honor  of  the  new  Duchess  de  Dantzig,  and  all  the 
little  world  of  great  people  was  talking  about  it. 

The  great  people  really  wondered  how  the  new 
duchess  would  take  to  her  rank. 

There  where  many  evil-disposed  individuals  each 
with  a tongue.  Some  sneered  at  her,  as  an  ex-laun- 
dress;  but  many  of  those  who  sneered  had  once  been 
quite  as  humble,  although  not  quite  as  spotless. 

The  good  Catherine’s  reputation  was  stainless;  all 
that  people  could  do  was  to  laugh  at  her  for  loving 
her  husband.  As  for  Lefebvre  they  laughed  at  him, 
too,  for  being  a good  husband. 

Though  he  adored  Napoleon,  he  had  never  imitated 
the  example  of  his  idol  in  one  point — he  had  never 
deceived  his  wife. 


MADAME  SAN8~GENE. 


222 

“I  follow  the  emperor  in  all  -but  he  said.  | 

^^Look  you,  7nes  amis,^^  he  once  remarked  to  his 
officers,  ‘^if  I were  to  deceive  my  Catherine,  I could  ^ 
not  conquer  the  Prussians.  I would  be  fighting  my 
remorse  instead.  One  must  have  a whole  heart  and 
a clear  conscience  to  fight, one  to  twenty.” 

Catherine,  la  Duchesse  de  Dantzig,  was  late  at  the 
reception  given  in  her  honor  by  the  empress.  She 
found  Napoleon’s  two  sisters  quarreling.  Caroline 
Bonaparte  was  a queen — the  queen  of  Naples — Elisa, 
from  Saint-Cyr,  was  only  a duchess.  So  the  queen 
scorned  and  snubbed  the  duchess,  and  the  duchess 
envied  and  abused  the  queen. 

But  while  the  sisters  were  bandying  words,  Cather- 
ine’s husband  was  taking  breakfast  with  the  emperor. 

Napoleon  really  loved  Lefebvre.  He  needed  and 
valued  fidelity  above  all  things,  and  he  knew  that 
Lefebvre  was  as  faithful  as  he  was  brave.  He  also 
knew  that  Lefebvre  was  poor;  he  resolved  to  make 
him  rich. 

He  asked  suddenly  at  table:  “Do  you  like  choco- 
late?” 

“Yes,  sire,”  answered  the  new  duke,  somewhat 
surprised;  “that  is,  if  you  like  it.” 

“Oh,”  said  the  emperor,  “I  am  very  fond  of  Dant- 
zig chocolate;  I will  give  you  some.  Here  it  is,” 
handing  him  a little  package,  “you  ought  to  have 
some  of  the  products  of  the  town  you  conquered. 
Accept  this  package.  Such  little  gifts  prove  friend- 
ship.” 

Lefebvre  carelessly  put  the  “little  gift”  in  his 
pocket.  “Thank  you,  sire,”  he  said;  then  added, 
“They  say  chocolate  is  good  for  the  sick;  I’ll  send  it 
to  some  hospital.” 

“No,”  said  Napoleon  smiling,  “I  particularly  re- 
quest that  you  keep  it  for  yourself.” 

Lefebvre  bowed,  but  wonderingly  said  to  himself: 


MADAME  SAJSrS-QENE. 


223 


“How  odd  to  give  me  chocolate,  like  a bon-bon  to  a 
girl.”  But  he  understood  the  emperor’s  meaning 
better  in  an  hour  or  two. 

That  little  package  of  so-called  “Dantzig  choco- 
late” was  of  satin  paper,  containing  banknotes  for 
three  hundred  thousand  francs,  the  emperor’s  gift 
to  the  new  duke  to  sustain  his  rank. 

As  for  the  new  duchess,  she  was  trying  to  hold  her 
own  at  the  empress’  reception  that  morning. 

She  was  in  all  the  splendor  (to  her  “horrors”)  of 
“full  dress.” 

White  ostrich  plumes  were  in  her  headgear;  she 
wore  her  ducal  coronet;  her  trailing  skirt  arid  long 
cloak  of  sky-blue  velvet  were  magnificent.  And  yet 
in  all  her  glory,  she  felt  timid,  she  blushed. 

Yes,  for  once  in  her  life,  and  for  the  very  proudest 
moment  in  it,  Catherine  Sans-Gene  did  not  deserve 
her  sobriquet;  she  was  abashed,  she  did  “care.” 

She  had  sent  for  little  Despreaux  once  more,  and 
he  had  “coached”  her  in  acting  as  a duchess;  but 
as  she  entered  the  salon  the  pompous  little  usher, 
forgetting  her  new  dignity,  had  announced  her  by 
her  former  title  as  “Madame  la  Marechale  Lefebvre.” 

“The  stupid,”  murmured  Catherine,  “he  is  like 
me,  he  does  not  know  his  part.” 

The  empress  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  by  this 
time  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig  was  herself  again. 

And  when  the  empress  asked  about  her  health,  she 
replied  “that  she  felt  as  strong  as  the  Pont  Neuf.” 

Then  she  turned  to  the  little  usher  who  had  mis- 
announced  her,  and  told  him  “to  learn  his  part  better 
next  time,”  and  she  called  him  “my  lad.” 

Then  she  took  her  place  near  the  throne  among 
the  court  ladies  who  giggled  and  laughed. 

Now  Catherine  Sans-G6ne  could  not  and  would 
not  stand  being  laughed  at.  She  was  vexed,  but  she 
bit  her  lips  to  restrain  the  expression  of  her  anger. 


224 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE. 


What  are  they  better  than  I,  these  odious  women,” 
she  thought.  “Oh,  if  the  emperor  was  only  here 
that  I might  tell  him  what  I think  of  his  court.” 

A man  approached  her,  looking  like  a cross  between 
a priest  and  a bandit. 

“Madame  la  Duchesse  does  not  recognize  me,”  said 
the  man,  bowing  low. 

“Not  exactly,”  said  Catherine,  eyeing  him  with 
some  instinctive  suspicion  and  dislike  already,  “yet 
I think  I have  seen  you  somewhere  before.” 

“Madame  la  Duchesse  saw  me  years  ago,”  contin- 
ued the  man,  “when  she  was  not  a ” 

“Oh!”  cried  Catherine,  interrupting  him,  “you 
mean  when  I was  a laundress.  Oh,  don’t  hesitate 
to  say  it,  man ; I keep  my  laundress  dress  yet,  and 
my  husband  keeps  his  old  sergeant  clothes.” 

“Well,  then,  I did  meet  madame  years  ago,  at  a 
public  ball  at  the  Waux-Hall,”  said  the  stranger, 
whose  face,  as  Catherine  looked  at  it,  grew  more  and 
more  familiar.  “A  magician  prophesied  at  the  ball 
that  you  should  become  a duchess — you  are  one.” 

“While  you,  monsieur?”  asked  Catherine. 

“I  have  the  honor  to  be  minister  of  police.” 

“Ah!  then  you  are  Monsieur  Fouche.” 

“At  your  service,  Madame  la  Duchesse,”  said 
Fouche  with  his  lowest  bow.  “Permit  me,  ma- 
dame,” he  continued,  “to  take  the  privilege  of  old 
acquaintance.  You  seem  to  have  some  enemies  and 
would-be  rivals  here,”  looking  at  the  court  ladies. 
“Let  me  warn  you  against  giving  them  the  advan- 
tage by  some  slip  of  the  tongue  or  temper;  comprenez^ 
vous^  madame?” 

“ Oui!  Monsieur  Fouche,”  answered  Catherine. 
She  really  could  not  but  dislike  this  man,  but  his 
advice  was  good,  and  perhaps  he  might  help  her  at 
this  moment. 

She  suggested  it  to  Fouche  frankly,  and  he,  with 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


225 


his  catlike  smile,  having  his  own  purposes  in  view, 
agreed  to  pull  her  through. 

“I  will  be  infinitely  obliged  to  you,  monsieur,’’ 
said  Catherine;  “you  know  I left  the  flatiron  for 
the  canteen,  and  the  canteen  wagon  for  the  court. 
It  is  not  so  much  to  be  wondered  at,  if  I know  but 
next  to  nothing  of  the  last.” 

“Well,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  watch  me,  and  when 
I tap  my  snuffbox  with  my  two  fingers,  consider  it  a 
danger  signal  and  stop,^'^ 

“ Ah ! Monsieur  Fouche,”  cried  Catherine,  “ I shall 
watch  you  like  a hawk ; I shall  not  for  one  moment 
lose  sight  of  you  or  your  snuffbox.” 

“Don’t  mind  me,  madame,”  said  Fouche,  “only 
my  snuff  box, 

And  this  arrangement  having  been  made,  the  two 
followed  the  empress  and  partook  of  a collation. 

But  the  unkind  remarks  of  her  female  companions 
and  critics  pursued  Catherine  even  in  the  supper-room . 

The  sisters  of  the  emperor,  the  queen  of  Naples 
and  Elisa  Bonaparte,  turned  a cold  shoulder  on  the 
duchess  of  Dantzig. 

The  queen  of  Naples  showed  behind  her  fan  a 
note  of  Catherine’s  to  the  court  costumer  in  which 
she  had  spelled  satin  “catin.” 

Then  she  told  a story  of  how  Catherine,  having 
missed  a diamond,  had  herself  searched  all  the  cloth- 
ing of  a suspected  workman,  till  she  found  her  stolen 
jewel. 

Elisa  mockingly  turned  to  Catherine  to  get  her 
own  version  of  this  affair,  and  Catherine  would  have 
fallen  into  this  trap  had  not  Fouche  tapped  upon  his 
snuffbox. 

She  comprehended  at  once  what  Fouche  meant, 
and  what  Elisa  would  have  done;  but  she  made  up 
her  mind  to  give  her  enemies  of  the  court  circle  a 
lesson  here  and  now — a lesson  which  they  would  not 


226 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


be  likely  lo  forget.  “I  suppose  Monsieur  Pouche,” 
she  said  to  herself,  ‘‘if  he  knew  what  I was  going  to 
do,  would  tap  harder  than  ever  on  his  snuffbox,  but 
I don’t  care;  I am  not  called  ‘Sans-G^ne’  for 
nothing.” 

Without  pause  she  advanced  into  the  very  center 
of  the  court  circle,  and  looking  at  the  two  sisters  of 
the  emperor,  who  for  awhile  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
their  own  quarrels  to  mock  and  make  woman’s  war 
on  her^  said  to  Caroline  Bonaparte,  “Your  majesty,” 
and  to  Elisa,  “Madame  la  Princesse.” 

All  knew  “something”  was  coming.  In  vain 
Pouche  tapped  on  his  snuffbox.  Catherine  Sans- 
G^ne  could  not  have  been  “stopped”  now  by  the 
emperor  himself.  “ You  seem  to  make  sport,”  she 
cried,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  voice  resonant,  clear  as 
a bell,  “because  a poor  woman  like  myself  was  able 
to  discover  a thief;  but  then,  he  was  a poor  thief,  an 
humble  thief;  he  wasn’t  a marshal,  nor  a court  lady, 
who  take  everything  they  can  get.  Probably  I was 
wrong  in  arresting  a poor  devil,  when  other  thieves, 
who  wear  coronets,  pillage  the  empire  and  despoil  our 
country.” 

All  who  heard  her,  everybody  in  that  brilliant 
assemblage,  were  paralyzed,  motionless  with  amaze- 
ment or  anger. 

“Ah!”  continued  Catherine  Sans-Gene,  “the  em- 
peror is  good — too  good — so  good  that  ho  is  weak. 
He  does  not  care  for  money,  he  never  did.  I knew 
him  when  he  liived  on  next  to  nothing  a day,  but  he 
lets  those  he  has  favored  and  elevated  rob  him  at 
will.  It  is  not  the  servants  or  the  work-people  in 
the  palace  that  should  be  searched,  but  the  do- 
nothings  and  the  sovereigns.” 

Her  voice  shook  with  anger.  She,  strong  in  her 
own  and  her  husband’s  honesty,  denounced  titled 
thieves  unsparingly. 


MADAME  8ANS-QENE, 


227 


Caroline  of  Naples  was  herself  as  audacious  as 
beautiful  and  unprincipled;  she  was  proud,  too,  and 
sneered  at  Catherine. 

‘‘Madame  la  Duchesse  is  thinking  of  that  era  of 
republican  virtue  when  one  was  suspected  if  one 
happened  to  wash  one’s  hands,  unless  indeed  one 
happened  to  b6  a regular  laundress.” 

The  queen  spoke  bitterly,  sarcastically,  and  as  she 
thought,  triumphantly. 

But  Catherine  Sans-Gene  now  shouted  forth, 
trembling  with  patriotic  more  than  with  personal 
auger: 

“Do  not  dare,  queen  though  you  may  chance  to 
be,  do  not  dare  to  insult  the  soldiers  of  the  republic. 
They  were  all  heroes,  and  my  husband  was  one  of 
them.  They  fought  for  country  and  for  glory,  not 
for  rewards  or  plunder.” 

She  paused  as  if  to  gather  strength,  but  it  was  to 
make  a new  and  telling  point.  “Ah!  our  emperor, 
God  bless  him,  he  will  miss  the  soldiers  of  the  repub- 
lic, and  he  may  need  them  some  day.  When  he 
seeks  for  friends  among  such  as  you,  in  hours  of 
danger,  he  will  only  find  kings,  queens,  princes, 
princesses,  marshals  and  noblemen — by  title — who  will 
in  his  hour  of  need,  take  heed  only  of  themselves 
and  their  thrones.” 

Every  word  spoken  by  Catherine  Sans-G6ne  struck 
home. 

The  Princess  Elisa  said  to  the  queen  of  Naples: 
“Come,  sister,  let  us  leave  this.  Who  can  tell  what 
more  may  be  uttered  by  a laundress,  whom  our 
brother’s  weakness  has  made  a duchess.” 

Fouche  approached  Catherine.  “ You  spoke  rather 
too  strongly,  Madame  la  Duchesse,”  he  said,  with  his 
slow,  cold  smile.  “You  would  not  stop  though  I 
warned  you  on  my  snuffbox.” 

“Nevermind,  Monsieur  Fouch6,”  replied  Catherine 


228 


MADAME  SAMS-QENE. 


Sans-G^ne,  now  Duchess  de  Dantzig,  ‘‘I  shall  tell  ! 
all  to  the  emperor,  and  when  he  knows  all  I think  | 
he  will  endorse  what  I have  said.”  ] 

I 

CHAPTER  XXVII.  j 

THE  RUSSIAN  ALLIANCE— THE  AUSTRIAN  ALLIANCE— 
THE  DIVORCE. 

France,  on  the  22d  day  of  June,  1807,  was  every- 
where victorious  and  full  of  glory.  Lannes,  Murat, 
Ney — were  names  for  soldiers  to  conjure  by. 

Napoleon  once  said  of  Ney:  ‘‘He  is  not  a man,  he 
is  a lion.” 

Jena,  Friedland,  Austerlitz,  all  three  victories; 
Austria,  Prussia,  Eussia,  all  three  conquered. 

Napoleon  was  now  hailed  by  his  soldiers, 
jjereur  d'^  Occident 

He  had  been  victor  alike,  in  the  East  and  in  the 
West.  But  after  war  peace  and  negotiations.  The  Man 
of  Destiny  dreamed  of  an  alliance  with  Eussia  for 
awhile.  He  hoped  to  marry  the  Archduchess  Anne, 
the  sister  of  the  czar,  Alexander. 

But  in  February,  1810,  weary  of  ruse  or  delay,  he 
broke  with  the  czar  and  sent  an  autograph  letter  to 
Francis  II.,  of  Austria. 

It  was  the  most  momentous  of  letters.  For  in  it 
he  solicited  through  Berthier  the  hand  of  the  Prin- 
cess Marie  Louise  of  Vienna. 

He  had  already  determined  on  divorcing  himself 
from  Josephine.  For  she  remained  childless,  and 
the  other  schemes  for  an  adopted  heir  to  his  domin- 
ions did  not  please  him;  he  wanted  a son. 

Josephine  had  long  feared  the  long-delayed  blow. 

True,  she  held  a certificate  of  her  religious  mar- 
jiage,  given  her  by  Cardinal  Fesch,  and  she  counted 


MADAME  SANS-QEJSfE. 


229r 


on  the  steady,  though  no  longer  passionate  attach--* 
ment  of  Napoleon. 

But  one  day,  summoned  by  the  archchancellor 
Cambaceres,  she  presented  herself  before  the  emperor. 

The  interview  was  as  stormy  as  it  was  short. 

It  took  place  after  dinner,  on  November  30,  1809. 
When  the  cofiee  was  served  the  emperor  took  his 
cup  from  his  page  and  dismissed  him. 

Husband  and  wife  were  alone  together  for  the  last 
time. 

Napoleon  spoke  of  his  determination  to  obtain  a 
divorce,  and  gave  his  reasons.  He  tried  to  be  calm. 

Josephine  was  profoundly  agitated,  stammered 
forth  her  love,  reminded  him  of  happy  hours  in  the 
past. 

But  Napoleon  intrenched  himself  behind  the  mask 
of  a cold  manner. 

‘‘Do  not  try  to  soften  me,”  he  said;  “do  not  think 
to  change  my  resolution.  I shall  always  love  you, 
but  policy  demands  that  I part  from  you — policy  is 
all  head  and  no  heart.” 

Josephine,  with  a cry,  fell  on  the  floor  senseless. 

Napoleon  called  for  M.  de  Bausset,  his  chamber- 
lain,  and  the  two  men  carried  the  already  ex-empress 
to  her  chamber. 

The  emperor  sacrificed  love  and  happiness  to  what 
he  thought  was  policy.  It  was  an  error  for  which 
he  was  punished  cruelly  thereafter. 

His  “luck”  left  him  with  Josephine. 

The  divorce  papers  were  signed  at  the  Tuileries, 
on  the  evening  of  December  15,  in  the  midst  of  an 
august  and  solemn  assemblage. 

Napoleon,  taking  Josephine  by  the  hand,  read 
with  tears  (and  the  tears  were  real)  a paper,  prepared 
by  Cambaceres,  announcing  his  resolution.  He  gave 
as  his  only  reason  for  a divorce  his  desire  for  a son 
by  a second  marriage. 


330 


MADAME  SANB-GEME. 


It  had  been  arranged  that  Josephine  was  to  read  a 
reply,  prepared  for  her,  to  this  declaration,  but  tears 
choked  her  utterance.  She  passed  the  paper  to  M. 
Eegnauld  de  Saint-Jean-d’Angely,  who  read  it  in 
her  stead. 

In  it  she  accepted  the  decree  of  divorce  with  resig- 
nation. 

The  paper  being  read,  Josephine  added  one  touch- 
ing sentence  of  her  own—the  inspiration  of  the 
moment. 

am  glad,^’  she  said,  ^‘to  give  the  emperor  this 
proof  of  my  attachment  and  devotion.  I think  it  is 
the  greatest  proof  the  world  has  ever  seen.” 

Josephine,  by  her  attitude  and  conduct  at  this 
period,  atoi^ed  for  her  early  faults,  and  in  considera- 
tion thereof  posterity  has  been  far  more  lenient  to 
her  memory  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been. 

She  has  been  looked  upon  ever  since  as  the  victim 
of  Napoleon’s  ambition. 

On  Saturday,  December  16,  the  consular  senate 
divorced  the  unhappy  though  famous  pair,  and  at 
eight  o’clock  Josephine  left  her  husband’s  palace  for 
her  own  separate  establishment  at  Malmaison. 

It  was  a dark,  a dreadful  night;  the  sky  seemed 
covered  with  a funeral  pall. 

The  Eeuil  road,  one  of  her  favorite  rides  as  em- 
press, now  looked  leafless  and  somber. 

Her  son.  Prince  Eugene,  accompanied  her. 

The  emperor  himself,  overcome  by  tender,  mourn- 
ful memories,  had  left  the  Tuileries  for  the  night, 
?md  passed  the  weary,  lonely  hours  till  morning  at 
the  Trianon. 

Two  days  later  he  called  at  Malmaison,  tried  to 
comfort  Josephine,  kissed  her  farewell,  and  then 
pushed  on  the  preparations  for  the  second  mar- 
riage. 

Talleyrand  and  Eouch6,  two  inseparable  traitors, 


MAIXAME  8ANS-QENE, 


231 


and  Metternich,  the  Austrian  minister  (of  whom 
Cambaceres  remarked,  “He  has  aU  the  material  for 
a statesman,  he  is  such  a liar”),  schemed  day  and 
night  to  give  the  Tnileries  a young  empress.  And 
their  schemes  succeeded. 

As  for  Francis  Joseph  of  Austria,  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  sacrifice  his  daughter  to  save  his  crown. 

Napoleon,  now  that  he  was  to  marry  a young 
woman  began  to  change  his  habits  and  to  give  more 
care  and  time  to  his  toilet.  With  a view  to  please 
Marie  Louise  he  ordered  a suit  of  foppish  clothes 
from  that  soldier-dandy  Murat’s  tailor. 

But  after  all,  when  the  clothes  were  sent  to  the 
palace  as  per  order,  he  would  not  wear  them. 

Young  wife,  or  no  young  wife,  Napoleon  would 
not  appear  ridiculous. 

So  spite  the  court  tailor  (Leger’s)  offer  to  remake 
the  suit,  he  sent  it  as  a present  to  his  prospective 
brother-in-law,  the  Austrian  prince. 

But  he  stopped  wearing  boots  with  spurs,  and 
ordered  a superfine  pair  of  shoes  from  a ladies’  shoe- 
maker. 

And  then  he  sent  for  Professor  Despreaux  and 
took  lessons  in  the  waltz.  He  intended  to  dance 
with  his  bride. 

He  inspected  the  Tuileries  critically.  It  must  be 
in  some  portions  refurnished.  It  had  been  good 
enough  for  him  and  for  Josephine,  but  for  Marie 
Louise,  no. 

While  on  one  of  his  tours  of  house  criticism,  he 
met  Lefebvre.  Now  Lefebvre  had  liked,  and  at  this 
time  missed,  Josephine;  besides,  he  hated  to  seethe 
emperor  of  France  wed  a princess  of  Austria.  It 
boded  no  good. 

And  then  he  didn’t  like  the  idea  of  a divorce.  Mar- 
ried people  should  stick  together,  child  or  no  child, 
like  himself  and  Catherine. 


233 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


Life  to  his  notion  was  a battle,  and  comrades  should 
not  part  in  the  middle  of  a fight. 

But  the  emperor  seeing  the  duke  of  Dantzig,  took 
him  around  his  palace,  showing  him  the  new  harp  he 
had  bought  (Marie  Louise  played  the  harp),  and  the 
new  jewels  (Marie  Louise  doted  on  diamonds),  and 
finally  confided  to  him  the  news  that  he,  the  emperor, 
intended  to  allow  the  new  empress  a thousand  francs 
a day  pin  money. 

But  Lefebvre  seemed  to  think  that  this  was  too 
much,  and  that  after  all,  the  most  valuable  thing  he 
could  ever  give  any  woman  was — himself,  the  great 
Napoleon — and  that  all  the  treasures  in  the  world 
were  naught  compared  to  the  glory  of  being  the 
spouse  of  the  emperor  of  the  French. 

‘‘Flatterer,”  said  Napoleon. 

“No,  sire,”  said  Lefebvre,  “I  say  but  what  I think. 
I do  not  know  how  to  flatter — don’t  want  to  know. 
Like  my  wife,  I am  myself  somewhat  sans-gene.^'* 

“Ah!”  exclaimed  the  emperor,  “as  to  your  wife, 
I want  to  talk  to  you  about  her.  Come  dine  with  me 
to-day,  we  can  talk  at  dinner.” 

And  he  led  the  way  to  the  imperial  dining-room, 
whither  Lefebvre  followed  him,  somewhat  unwill- 
ingly and  wondering  greatly. 

“What  can  the  emperor  want  to  say  about  my 
wife,”  he  muttered;  “has  Catherine  been  quarreling 
with  his  sisters  again?” 


MADAME  SANS-GENE. 


233 


OHAPTEK  XXVIII. 

LEFEBVRE  CONQUERS  NAPOLEON — THE  FLAMING 
HEART. 

The  dinner  of  the  emperor  was  fully  prepared, 
the  table  being  set  in  one  of  those  little  dining-rooms 
which  the  great  man  vastly  preferred  to  the  grand 
dining-hall.  * 

To-day’s  dinner  to  which  Lefebvre  was  thus  unex- 
pectedly invited  was  simple,  but  elaborately  served. 

The  guest  noted  that  his  imperial  host  was  becom- 
ing more  of  an  epicure  lately,  and  lingered  longer  at 
table  than  had  been  his  wont. 

It  was  another  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  Marie 
Louise.  “She  is  a German,  and  as  the  Germans  eat 
much  and  eat  long,  I suppose  I must  try  to  do  the 
same,”  said  Napoleon  to  Lefebvre,  and  as  Lefebvre 
liked  eating,  he  was  pleased  with  this  new  de- 
parture. 

But  to-day  his  uneasiness  interfered  with  his  en- 
joyment. “Why  has  the  emperor  brought  me  here 
to  talk  about  my  wife?” 

When  the  coffee  was  served,  Napoleon  asked  Le- 
febvre a leading  question.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
people  generally  thought  of  his  divorce? 

Lefebvre  endeavored  to  evade  the  question.  Fi- 
nally he  told  the  emperor  bluntly  that  most  of  his 
old  soldiers  regretted  it,  simply  because  most  of  them 
had  risen  along  with  Josephine,  as  well  as  with 
Napoleon  himself,  and  they  “had  got  used  to  each 
other,”  whereas  they  all  dreaded  more  or  less  the 
aristocratic  Marie  Louise,  who  might  despise  them 
for  their  low  origin. 

Napoleon  assured  him  that  his  future  empress 


234 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE, 


would  always  honor  his  faithful  adherents  for  their 
services. 

‘‘Yes,”  said  Lefebvre,  “but  how  about  our  wives?” 

“Eh?  yes,”  impatiently  answered  the  master  of 
Europe,  “but  your  sacred  wives  have  not,  like  you, 
won  battles.  They— — ” 

“Sire!”  cried  Lefebvre,  daring  to  interrupt  even 
the  emperor,  “they  are  the  best  part  of  our  lives, 
they  inspire  us  to  win  the  rewards  your  majesty 
gives.” 

“Yes,  yes,  I know,  Lefebvre;  but  some  of  these 
good  wives  make  very  peculiar  court  ladies.  Why,” 
his  majesty  asked  abruptly,  “did  you  so  foolishly 
marry  when  you  were  only  a sergeant?” 

“Sire,”  replied  Lefebvre,  like  the  man  and  hus- 
band he  was,  “if  I have  made  a mistake  I have 
never  discovered  it.” 

“You  are  a true  and  noble  heart,  Lefebvre,”  said 
Napoleon  earnestly.  “I  believe  in  your  words  as  I 
do  in  your  deeds,  but  even  you  must  own  that  for 
fhe  duke  of  Dantzig  your  wife,  good  as  she  is,  is 
out  of  place.  She  is  provincial,  she  is  still  a washer- 
woman.” 

“Sire,”  replied  Lefebvre,  “she  loves  me,  I love 
her,  and  nothing  can  make  me  forget  how  happy  she 
has  made  me.” 

“Still  it  is  too  bad  you  married  in  those  young 
days  of  the  revolution,”  insisted  the  emperor. 

“Still,  sire,  it  is  a fact,  and  it  is  unalterable,”  in- 
sisted Lefebvre. 

“ Unalterdble^^^  repeated  Napoleon,  then  mean- 
ingly, “do  you  really  think  it  cannot  be  altered?” 

The  marshal  shuddered  a little,  he  began  to  see 
Napleon’s  drift.  He  stammered  out:  “Catherine 
and  I are  united  for 

“But,”  said  Napoleon  quickly,  “so  were  I and 
Josephine.” 


MADAME  8AN8-0ENE. 


235 


‘‘Aye,  sire,”  replied  Lefebvre,  “but  you  are  differ- 
ent. You  are  the  emperor,  I — ” he  really  did  not 
know  what  to  say. 

“Seriously,  my  dear  Lefebvre,  have  you  never 
considered  divorce?”  asked  the  emperor. 

“Sire,”  answered  his  faithful  subject,  “I  consider 

a divorce  as  a ” Again  he  knew  not  what  to  say, 

although  he  knew  what  he  meant  to  say. 

Then  to  his  astonished  follower,  the  emperor  pro- 
posed that  he,  Lefebvre,  should  procure  a divorce 
from  his  wife,  as  he  had  procured  one  from  Joseph- 
ine, and  then  he,  the  emperor,  would  find  his  favorite 
marshal-duke  a more  fitting  partner  from  the  old 
aristocracy. 

Napoleon  went  on  to  argue  the  wisdom,  nay  the 
necessity  of  this  measure,  and  some  of  his  arguments 
were  very  ingenious  and  eloquent.  He  was  a master 
pleader  as  well  as  a master  fighter,  a most  able  casu- 
ist, and  he  might  have  convinced  many  a brighter 
man  than  the  one  he  was  talking  to. 

But  he  produced  in  this  instance  no  impression 
whatever  on  the  man  he  was  talking  to,  though  this 
man  all  but  worshiped  him. 

“Sire,”  said  the  duke  of  Dantzig,  “send  me  to 
the  end  of  the  earth,  to  Africa,  or  to  Siberia;  dispose 
of  me  as  you  will;  shoot  me  if  you  like;  deprive  me 
of  the  rank  you  have  given  me;  but  love  Catherine  I 
must;  live  with  her,  as  well  as  for  her,  I shall. 

“Sire,  even  if  I incur  your  displeasure,  I shall  not 
divorce  my  wife. 

“She  is  Duchess  of  Dantzig  and  Marechale  Lefeb- 
vre by  your  desire,  but  she  shall  always  be  Madame 
Lefebvre  by 

Thus  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  did  Lefebvre, 
the  duke  of  Dantzig,  resist  his  emperor’s  will. 

Napoleon  intently  watched  him. 

“You  are  a model  husband  as  well  as  soldier,”  he 


^36 


MADAME  SANS-GEME, 


said  at  length,  but  coldly,  almost  sternly.  ‘‘I  do 
not  agree  with  you,  but  I respect  you,  nor  am  1 a 
tyrant;  do  as  you  will,  it  is  your  affair.  We  will  not 
mention  the  matter  again.  Cleave  to  your  wife,  but 
warn  her  to  hold  her  tongue;  she  shall  not  introduce 
before  the  future  empress  of  France,  reared  in  the 
imperial  palace  at  Vienna,  the  argot  of  her  clais. 
Oo,  Monsieur  le  Due,  I must  see  the  minister  of 
police;  return  to  your  housekeeper.”  Lefebvre  with- 
drew stunned.  As  he  passed  out  Napoleon  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  uttered  the  single  word — 
^Mmbecile.” 

Lefebvre  really  felt  uneasy  as  to  the  ultimate  result 
of  his  resistance.  He  did  not  feel  sure  as  to  how  the 
emperor  would  take  it.  On  his  return  home  he 
found  Catherine  in  the  agonies  of  the  toilette,  trying 
on  a new  gown  ordered  for  the  approaching  irpperial 
nuptials. 

But  she  let  her  dress  drop  on  the  floor  as  she  ran 
to  greet  her  husband.  She  noted,  however,  at  once 
his  anxiety  and  asked  forthwith,  in  her  blunt,  direct 
way: 

‘‘Has  anything  happened  to  the  emperor?” 

Already  it  had  been  hinted  abroad  that  Napoleon 
was  to  be  assassinated.  Catherine  could  imagine  no 
greater  misfortune — save  the  loss  of  Lefebvre. 

Her  husband  assured  her  that  the  emperor  was 
well,  but  that  he  had  had  a difference  with  him. 
Catherine  was  sorry,  alarmed.  It  was  dangerous  to 
defy  the  emperor,  he  could  avenge  disobedience  and 
he  would.  “But  what  did  you  differ  about?”  asked 
Catherine. 

“About  1/02^,”  answered  her  husband. 

“About  me^  impossible,”  said  Catherine. 

“It  is  true;  and  lohat  do  you  think  he  wanted  me 
to  do  with  you  ?”  asked  Lefebvre. 

“How  do  I know,”  said  Catherine,  “unless  he 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


237 


Tvanted  you  to  send  me  to  the  country.  If  so,  do  not 
differ  with  his  majesty  but  agree  and  thank  him. 
We  can  be  very  happy  together  in  the  country,  dear.’’ 

‘^Yes,  Catherine,  .but  the  emperor  don’t  want  us 
to  go  anywhere  together;  he  wants  us  to  separate.” 

‘‘What!  separate  in  time  of  yeace^  What  ails  the 
emperor,  Lefebvre?” 

“I  don’t  know,  or  rather,  I do  know,  Catherine; 
but  wAat  do  you  think  he  wants  me  to  do?” 

“To  lead  another  army,  my  great  Lefebvre,  or  to* 
become  a governor  of  some. State,  perhaps,  why  not^ 
a k ” 

“No,  not  anything  like  that,  Catherine,  he  wants 
me  to ” 

A pause. 

“To  what?”  (another  pause)  “out  with  it,  man.” 

“To  marry.” 

“To  ivhatf^ 

“To  marry  again.” 

“Again,  and  me?^' 

“Oh,  he  wants  me  to  divorce  you^  Catherine.” 

“Divorce!  oh,  Lefebvre,  how  abominable  in  the 
emperor;  and  what  did  you  say?” 

“ ThiSy^  and  he  opened  his  arms. 

Catherine  threw  herself  into  them.  They  em- 
braced passionately,  and  they  vowed  once  more  that 
naught  but  death  should  part  them. 

Each  sustained  the  other,  despite  the  vague  fear 
both  had  of  the  emperor. 

Catherine,  then  still  holding  her  husband’s  hand, 
led  him  to  a sofa,  and  sitting  down  side  by  side,  one 
told  and  the  other  listened  to  the  details  of  what 
Napoleon  had  said  at  the  dinner,  and  then  both 
guessed,  as  best  they  could,  at  his  reasons. 

Catherine  was  in  the  clouds  as  to  the  great  man’s; 
motives.  “Does  the  emperor  thi7ik  because  he  ia 
divorced  that  the  whole  world  must  follow  his  exam- 


238 


MADAME  SANS^OEME. 


pie?”  she  asked  indignantly.  ‘^Lefebvre,  I begin  to 
Jear  onr^emperor  has  gone  mad,”  she  remarked  vehe- 
mently; ‘‘mad  on  this  subject  of  a marriage  with  a 
real  bred  and  born  emperor’s  daughter.” 

Lefebvre  would  have  it  that  “the  emperor  had  his 
reasons.”  But  both  agreed  on  one  point — he  should 
not  carry  out  his  ideas  with  them. 

Catherine,  woman-like,  was  very  anxious  to  know 
whether  the  emperor  had  hinted  at  any  particular 
^rand  lady  whom  he  wanted  Lefebvre  to  marry,  and 
breathed  freer  when  assured  in  the  negative.  “I 
would  make  it  very  unpleasant  for  that  particular 
grand  lady,”  she  thought. 

“Ah!  I told  our  emperor  I loved  thee,  Catherine,” 
said  her  husband,  as  they  talked  with  renewed  ten- 
derness, re-embracing  her,  “and  none  but  thee.  I 
told  him,  dear,  how  we  had  been  happy  together, 
how  we  had  spent  our  youth  together,  and  that  we 
had  but  one  dream — to  lead  our  existence  together  to 
the  end,  till  some  stray  bullet  should  send  me  to  join 
Hoche,  Lannes  or  the  rest,  in  the  wars  gone  by.” 

Catherine,  blushing  like  a young  girl  with  love 
and  pleasure,  nestled  in  her  husband’s  arms.  Sud- 
denly she  seized  Lefebvre  by  the  wrist,  turned  back 
the  cuff  of  his  uniform,  pushed  back  his  shirt  sleeve, 
and  revealed  on  his  bared  arm  the  tatooing  represent- 
ing a heart  on  fire,  with  the  words:  “To  Catherine, 
for  life,”  all  in  blue  marks  and  all  indelible,  uneras- 
able. 

“Don’t  you  remember,  dear?”  she  said,  “you  called 
this  ‘your  wedding  gift.’  There  it  is  still,  and  there 
it  still  will  be,”  she  almost  shouted  triumphantly. 
“ How  on  earth  could  you  ever  marry  any  fine  foreign 
lady,  an  archduchess  or  princess,  with  that  on  your 
arm?  What  would  any  other  woman  say  and  do,  if 
she  saw  that,  I should  like  to  know?  What  a scene 
she  would  make  to  be  sure.  I can  see  her  now  almost 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE. 


239 


snifBDg,  ‘and  who  pray,  Monsieur  le  Due,  may  this 
Catherine  be?’  Ha!  ha!  no,  no,  my  dear  old  Fran- 
<;ois  Lefebvre,  you  never  could  marry  any  other 
woman  with  that  on  your  arm.” 

“Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  Catherine,  probably 
my  other  arm  wouldn’t  suit  the  fine  foreign  lady  of 
yours  any  better,”  said  Lefebvre  laughing. 

And  turning  back  the  other  cuff,  he  displayed  the 
tatooing-marks  upon  the  other  arm,  “ Death  to 
Tyrants,”  which  legend  had  been  inscribed  on  his 
flesh  ever  since  the  memorable  10th  of  August. 

“Ah,  see,  Lefebvre,  we  belong  to  each  other  for 
life,  love,”  said  the  completely  happy  Catherine,  as 
she  laid  her  head  upon  her  husband’s  breast. 

“Yes,”  said  the  marshal,  “yes,  my  love,  for  life.” 

“Ah!  if  the  haughty,  foolish  emperor  who  wanted 
to  part  us  could  but  see  us  now^  Lefebvre,”  whispered 
Catherine  softly. 

And  then  husband  and  wife  more  than  ever  united 
by  this  attempt  to  separate  them  celebrated  the  last 
battle,  and  comm'*emorated  the  great  victory  gained 
by  Lefebvre  over  Napoleon. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  ARCHDUCHESS— THE  IMPERIAL  WEDDING — 

napoleon’s  jealousy — POUCH e’s  disgrace — 

CATHERINE’S  NEW  HAT. 

Marie  Louise  of  Austria  had  been  simply  reared, 
and  though  as  proud  as  Lucifer  to  a parvenu  (as  she 
and  hers  ever  considered  Napoleon),  she  was  gentle* 
ness  itself  to  her  imperial  circle. 

She  looked  upon  her  marriage  with  Napoleon 
purely  as  a political  affair,  and  really  thought  more 
of  her  dog  Keisu,  or  her  young  chevalier,  the  Count  de 


240 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


Neipperg  (with  whom  she  had  become  acquaicted 
under  rather  romantic  circumstances  at  her  father’s 
court  in  Vienna),  than  she  did  of  the  emperor  of  the 
French. 

De  Neipperg  had  met  her  one  day  in  the  royal 
park  at  Schontounn,  and  had  saved  her  from  acci- 
dentally drowning  in  the  lake,  while  trying  to  pluck  a 
favorite  flower.  He  had  met  her  frequently  after 
this,  having  become  a member  of  the  Austrian 
emperor’s  official  family. 

Napoleon  was  just  a little  jealous  of  Marie  Louise’s 
dog,  though  he  had  the  animal  sent  to  Paris,  to  be 
the  pet  companion  of  its  mistress,  but  he  was  really 
jealous  of  De  Neipperg,  who  had  accompanied  the 
archduchess  and  her  suite  to  the  French  capital, 
and  he  made  it  advisable  for  the  young  gallant  to 
return  forthwith  to  Vienna. 

The  imperial  wedding  had  been  twice  solemnized 
with  the  greatest  possible  pomp,  once  in  Vienna,  by 
proxy,  and  once  in  Paris,  and  Napoleon  did  all  in 
his  power  to  render  the  ill-starred  marriage,  based 
on  a divorce  and  a broken  heart,  a happy  one.  He 
endeavored  to  please  his  young  bride  in  every  way, 
but  in  vain.  She  never  really  liked  Paris,  and  she 
could  ‘^scarcely  endure”  Napoleon,  who  never  felt 
himself  secure  of  her  fldelity.  He  was  sure  from 
her  ample  physique  that  she  was  destined  to  become 
a mother,  and  to  bring  him  what  he  most  desired, 
an  heir,  and  with  that  he  endeavored  to  be  content. 
But  he  was  always  jealous  of  De  Neipperg,  and 
ordered  his  secret  agents  to  see  that  he  was  kept 
away  from  France. 

He  had  his  own  political  and  state  troubles,  despite 
the  consummation  of  his  second  marriage.  A plot 
to  assassinate  him  was  discovered,  in  which  the  secret 
society  of  the  Philadelphes  already  mentioned  was 
concerned;  in  this  plot  General  Mallet,  Marcel, 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE. 


241 


Kenee  and  others  were  implicated,  and  about  this 
time  Fouche,  chief  of  police,  and  now  duke  of 
Otranto,  fell  under  the  imperial  displeasure.  ‘^Un- 
easy lies  the  head  that  wears  a crown,”  proved  as  true 
an  adage  in  the  great  emperor’s  case  as  in  all  others. 

Such  was  the  position  of  affairs  when  a grand 
hunting  party  was  arranged  by  Napoleon  in  honor  of 
some  German  princes  visiting  Paris. 

The  hunt  was  to  be  a state  function,  and  the 
duchess  of  Dantzig  had  ordered  for  the  occasion  a 
superb,  and  what  she  herself  called  ‘‘a  stunning” 
toilette. 

“Here  is  Madame  la  Duchcsse’s  new  hat,”  said  her 
maid  Lisette,  to  Catherine,  on  the  day  before  the 
hunt.  Catherine  was  trying  *on  her  new  costume 
just  then  before  the  mirror.  The  main  elements  of 
the  costume  were  to  be  a very  long  skirt,  a coat  with 
metal  buttons,  and  a cocked  hat. 

The  hat  had  arrived  with  the  rest  of  the  suit;  the 
lady  was  dissatisfied,  she  found  it  too  tight. 

“I  can’t  get  myself  into  it,”  laughed  Catherine. 
“It  will  burst,  or  I will  faint.  I shall  be  laughed 
at,  I suppose,  whichever  happens.”  She  almost 
sighed,  then  laughed  again.  “What  do  I care  any 
way  what  they  say  or  do,  those  moths  of  the  court;  I 
know  them  too  well  to  care  for  them;  who  are  they 
any  way?  I would  like  to  give  that  Queen  Caroline 
a piece  of  my  mind  if  I could  get  hold  of  her;  I would 
remind  her  of  her  early  days.  She  has  reminded  me 
of  mine  often  enough.  I have  sworn  respect  to  the 
emperor  and  to  the  new  empress,  for  his  sake,  but  I 
haven’t  sworn  allegiance  to  this  Caroline — this  Ma- 
dame Murat;  I guess  not — Madame  Murat  didn’t 
gain  the  battle  of  Austerlitz;  But,  oh,  that  hat  I 
lise,  my  girl,  let  me  look  at  it.” 

She  took  it  from  her  maid.  “ It  seems  to  me  pretty 
bad,”  she  said  disdainfully. 


MADAME  SAMS-GEME. 


24:2 

‘‘I  do  not  find  it  so,”  said  the  maid  admiringly. 

Bah  I you  don’t  know  anything  about  it,  Lisette,” 
cried  Catherine,  ‘‘nor  for  the  matter  of  that,  do  I,” 
she  added.  “ Who  brought  it?” 

“The  hatter’s  clerk,”  said  the  maid. 

“Let  him  come  in,”  said  Catherine. 

And  the  duchess  turned  again  to  her  looking-glass, 
trying  to  adjust  the  hat  to  her  head. 

The  hatter’s  clerk  was  shown  in. 

Catherine  shrieked  as  she  saw  in  the  mirror  the 
face  of  the  clerk. 

“Leave  us!”  she  cried  to  her  maid. 

“Ah!  I guess  Madame  la  Duchesse  recognized  in 
the  hatter’s  clerk  somebody  she  knew  in  her  early 
days  when  she  was  a laundress,”  thought  the  maid. 

And  the  maid  was  right.  For  Catherine  in  the 
hatter’s  clerk  had  recognized — De  Neipperg. 

“You  in  Paris!  you  here  at  Compiegne,”  she  ex- 
claimed, in  utter  astonishment.  “You  in  this  dis- 
guise! del!  what  does  it  all  mean?” 

Then  De  Neipperg  hurriedly  explained: 

“I  am  here  on  an  important  errand  for  the  arch- 
duchess— I mean  the  empress,”  he  said.  His  errand 
was  indeed  important.  Napoleon  had  some  time 
before  this  missed  a ring  from  Marie  Louise’s  hand, 
a ring  which  he  himself  had  given  her,  but  which 
she,  on  De  Neipperg’s  hurried  banishment  from 
Paris,  had  given  to  him  as  a souvenir.  The  empress 
had  told  the  emperor  that  she  had  lost  the  ring,  but 
he  did  not  believe  her. 

What  rendered  Napoleon  specially  suspicious  was 
that  the  empress  lost  the  ring  about  the  time  that 
he  had  found  Marie  Louise  and  De  Neipperg  seated 
together  in  a summer  house  in  the  palace  grounds— 
a discovery  which  had  been  the  direct  cause  of  De 
Neipperg’s  exile. 

It  was  necessary  that  this  ring  should  be  returned 


MADAME  SANSr-GENE. 


243 


to  the  empress,  that  she  might  say  she  had  found  it 
again.  De  Neipperg  at  Vienna  had  been  notified 
and  had  hastened  secretly  to  Paris  to  return  the 
token.  He  had  at  once  on  his  arrival  hunted  up 
Catherine,  tracked  her  to  Oompiegne,  bribed  the 
hatter  to  let  him  play  clerk,  and  here  he  was. 

‘^And  from  here  you  must  go  back  at  once  to 
Vienna,”  said  Catherine  with  decision.  ‘‘If  the  em- 
peror finds  you  here,  you  will  be  lost,  and  what  is 
perhaps  of  even  more  importance,  the  empress  will 
be  compromised.” 

“Ah,  duchess,  I had  hoped,”  said  De  Neipperg, 
“that  you  would  be  my  friend  to  help  me  to  see  the 
empress  once  more.” 

Catherine  said  promptly,  unhesitatingly:  “No,  sir, 
do  not  count  on  vie.  See,”  she  continued,  “this  is^ 
no  longer  the  tenth  of  August;  I am  now  the  Mare- 
chale  Lefebvre,  Duchess  of  Dantzig,  and  my  husband 
and  I owe  all  we  are  to  the  emperor.  Give  me  the 
ring;  I will  see  that  it  is  given  to  the  empress,  but 
go  away  yourself.” 

“But  tell  the  empress  for  me,”  said  De  Neipperg 
earnestly,  “if  ever  she  is  in  trouble  to  send  for  me.” 

“I  will  carry  your  message,  sir,”  said  Catherine, 
“but  it  strikes  me  as  utterly  unnecessary.  Young 
man,”  she  added  proudly,  “the  wife  of  the  emperor 
of  Franco,  over  whom  the  Goddess  of  Victory  ever 
watches,  who^e  throne  is  surrounded  by  prostrate 
kings,  is  not  likely  to  ‘ be  in  trouble.’  ” 

“Ah,  madame — ah,  Catherine,”  replied  De  Neip- 
perg, “prostrate  kings  may  rise  again  to  revenge 
their  too-long  servitude.  Let  your  emperor  beware, 
a storm  is  gathering;  it  will  break  upon  his  head.” 

“But  this  storm  of  yours,”  said  Catherine,  “can- 
not come  from  Vienna.  Your  emperor,  man,  is  our 
emperor’s  father-in-law.” 

“True,  but  Francis  of  Austria  has  no  real  love  for 


244 


MADAME  SAN8-GENE, 


Napoleon  Bonaparte.  It  is  policy  only  that  unites 
them.  The  tie  will  break  and  Austria  will  join 
Eussia,  Prussia,  England,  to  dethrone  and  to  destroy 
your  emperor.” 

‘‘But  our  emperor  will  destroy  them  all,”  cried 
Catherine  confidently.  “But  we  waste  time  talking, 
you  must  go  at  once.” 

De  Neipperg  was  resolved  to  remain  and  see  the 
empress,  but  he  thought  it  best  at  this  time  to  pre- 
tend to  acquiesce  with  Catherine.  “I  will  obey 
you,  madame,”  he  said.  But  at  this  moment  the 
maid  outside  announced  M.  de  Eemusat,  the  emper- 
or’s chamberlain.  “Admit  M.  de  Eemusat,”  said 
Catherine. 

“Now  I must  be  once  more  the  hatter’s  clerk,” 
thought  De  Neipperg.  “ So  madame  is  satisfied  with 
the  hat,”  said  he  aloud,  as  the  chamberlain  entered. 

“Quite  so,”  cried  Catherine  equally  loudly,  “quite 
so;  and  you  may  present  my  compliments  to  your 
chief.” 

So  saying  the  duchess  of  Dantzig  seated  herself  to 
receive  with  due  dignity  monsieur  the  emperor’s 
chamberlain. 


OHAPTEB  XXX. 

THE  FAITH  OF  THE  LAUNDRESS — THE  MAMELUKES 
OF  HAPOLEOH — THE  DEBT  OF  THE  CANTINIERE 
IS  CANCELLED. 

Monsieur  de  Eemusat  bore  a formal  order  in 
which  it  was  tersely  stated  that  “the  emperor  wished 
the  duchess  of  Dantzig  to  come  to  him  at  once  in  his 
study.” 

Catherine  hastened  to  dress.  She  knew  that  an 
emperor  does  not  like  to  be  kept  waiting. 


MADAME  8AN8-GENE, 


245 


She  found  Napoleon  busy  delivering  orders  and 
signing  papers;  he  seemed  nervous. 

Then  he  read  the  newspapers  fiercely ; they  were 
the  foreign  journals,  containing  scandals  about  him- 
self and  his  sisters. 

One  paper  hinted  at  De  Neipperg’s  having  been, 
by  the  emperor’s  jealousy,  compelled  to  leave  Paris 
in  a hurry;  another  journal  alluded  to  the  quarrels 
between  Caroline  and  Elisa. 

Catherine  felt  that  she  had  been  sent  for  at  an 
unlucky  time.  She  braced  herself  for  what  might 
be  to  come,  and  she  fortified  herself  by  looking  at  a 
bit  of  old-time,  yellow  paper,  looking  like  a letter, 
which  she  had  put  into  her  bosom  before  leaving 
her  apartments. 

Eoustan,  the  emperor’s  faithful  servant,  was  on 
duty  at  the  study  door. 

An  aide-de-camp  had  announced  the  duchess  of 
Dantzig  and  had  retired. 

Catherine  on  entering  had  bowed  profoundly. 

She  waited,  herself  becoming  rather  nervous,  it 
must  be  confessed. 

She  was  not  altogether  Catherine  Sans- Gene  in  the 
presence  of  the  emperor. 

It  was  very  quiet  in  the  imperial  study,  only  a 
clock  ticked  on  the  mantelpiece.  There  was  no  other 
sound  save  Napoleon’s  impatient  exclamations  as  he 
read  the  newspapers. 

Suddenly  the  emperor  looked  up  and  saw  Cath- 
erine. 

‘‘Ah!  there  you  are,  Madame  la  Marechale,”  he 
said  brusquely;  “I  hear  fine  tales  of  you,  my  fine 
madame.  What  was  the  last  one?  Well,  it  is  always 
the  same  thing,  with  variations.  Always  rough  lan- 
guage, crude  expressions,  mistakes  which  get  into  the 


246 


MADAME  SAN8~GENE, 


ignorant;  but  I am  sorry  that  Lefebvre  married  while 
he  was  a sergeant.” 

The  eruperor  paused  a moment.  Catherine  stood 
with  beating  heart  and  pursed  lips,  biting  her  tongue 
to  keep  it  still.  The  great  man  took  a cup  of  coffee, 
at  a table  near  by,  and  then  proceeded : 

‘‘You  cannot  remain  longer  at  my  court,  madame; 
it  is  impossible.  You  must  leave  here  and  leave  Le- 
febvre— get  divorced.  It  will  not  alter  your  title  or 
your  privileges;  I told  Lefebvre  all  about  it;  did  he 
tell  you?” 

“Yes,  sire,”  said  Catherine,  “he  told  me  all.” 

“What  did  you  say?”  asked  the  emperor. 

“Why,  I laughed  first  at  and  then  with  him,” 
answered  the  duchess. 

At  this  reply,  in  his  surprise,  the  emperor  dropped 
his  cup  of  coffee.  It  fell  with  a loud  metallic  clang 
against  its  solid  silver  saucer. 

“What!”  he  cried;  “well,  but  what  did  Lefebvre 
say?  what  did  he  do?” 

“Why,  sire,”  answered  Catherine,  “he  kissed  me 
and  vowed  he  would  never  obey  you  in  this.” 

“Do  you  dare  to  speak  of  disobedience  to 
cried  the  emperor. 

“Sire,”  said  Catherine  firmly,  her  hands  on  her 
hips  in  the  old  fashion,  “you  are  our  master,  our 
emperor;  we  owe  you  everything.  But  although  you 
can  send  by  a nod  and  a sign  five  hundred  thousand 
men  to  the  Danube  or  the  Vistula,  happy  to  die  for 
you,  you  cannot  make  us  two,  Lefebvre  and  I,  cease 
loving  each  other;  you  cannot  part  us.  If  you  even 
think  so,  you  are  mistaken.” 

Napoleon  listened  speechless.  This  was  new  lan- 
guage for  him  to  hear;  he  changed  the  subject  some- 
what. “But  what  do  you  say  to  the  stories  I have 
heard  about  you,”  he  asked. 

“ What  stories,  sire,”  calmly  inquired  Catherine. 


MADAME  SAN8-QENE. 


247 


^‘Did  yon  not  insult  the  queen  of  Naples,  and  niy 
sister  Elisa?”  he  cried  impatiently,  angrily.  “Can 
I tolerate  such  impertinence?  have  you  no  respect 
for  the  emperor  that  you  thus  show  all  lack  of  it  for 
the  members  of  his  family?” 

“Sire,”  answered  Catherine  quietly,  “you  have 
beeu  grossly  misinformed.  I insulted  no  one,  I de- 
fended myself;  but  your  majesty’s  sisters,  sire,  they 
insulted  the  army.” 

“Insulted  my  army!  what  can  you  mean?”  almost 
shouted  the  emperor,  rising  from  the  chair  he  had 
just  taken.  “Who  dared  insult  the  army?” 

“Sire,”  said  Catherine  proudly,  ^^ioth  of  your 
sisters  outraged  the  army  in  my  person.  For  I have 
been  a soldier,  sire;  I went  to  the  wars  with  Lefebvre 
as  cantiniere  of  the  old  Thirteenth  Light  In- 
fantry.” 

“A  good  regiment,”  said  Napoleon. 

“True,  sire,”  said  Catherine,  “and  I have  seen 
service  at  Verdun,  Jemmapes,  with  the  army  of  the 
North,  the  army  of  the  Mozelle,  the  army  of  Sambre- 
et-Meuse.  Why,  sire,  I have  been  through  eighteen 
battles.” 

“You  have  done  well;  I congratulate  you,  madame; 
I respect  you,  madame,”  said  Napoleon  emphatically. 
“But,”  he  added,  “I  don’t  remember  Lefebvre  ever 
telling  me  this.” 

“Why  should  he  tell  you,  sire?”  asked  Catherine. 
“Has  he  not  glory  enough  for  twoV* 

“I  was  wounded  once,  sire,”  she  added,  “I  would 
not  have  mentioned  it  only  you  brought  this  subject 
up  yourself.” 

“Wounded,  where,  madame?”  asked  Napoleon, 
really  interested. 

“In  the  arm  here,”  showing  the  scar  of  a wound 
on  her  fair,  white,  plump  arm. 

Napoleon  kissed  the  arm  over  the  wound;  he 


248 


MAD  AMU  SAlSfS^QENE, 


would  have  kissed  it  a second  time,  but  Catherine 
withdrew  it  from  his  eager  lips. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  the  emperor  and  asked 
him,  as  familiarly  as  she  would  have  spoken  to  him 
fifteen  years  before:  ‘‘Do  you  not  remember  a visit 
I paid  you  long  ago,  on  the  tenth  of  August,  in 
Paris?  I called  on  you  at  your  little  room  in  the 
Hotel  de  Maureaud.  Don’t  you  really  remember?” 
seeing  Napoleon  had  really  forgotten.  “I  came  to 
bring  you  your  washing,  you  needed  the  things.” 

The  emperor  looked  puzzled,  then  half  smiled,  he 
began  now  to  recollect.  “You  were  then?”  he  in- 
quired. 

“A  laundress,”  said  she. 

“ Ah,  yes,  true,”  said  he. 

“ Yes,  and  somebody  in  your  palace  here  owes  me 
for  his  washing  yet.  Will  you  pay  me,  sire?”  she 
asked,  smiling. 

“I — pay  you?”  cried  the  emperor,  “are  you  mad, 
woman?” 

“No,  sire,  but  I think  you  will  pay  me,”  she  re- 
plied confidently.  “ My  debtor  was  a poor  man  then ; 
he  is  a rich  man  now,  and  I think  an  honest  one, 
who  will  pay  his  debts.” 

She  laughed  merrily,  and  she  pulled  from  her 
ample  bosom  the  little  old  bit  of  faded  yellow  paper, 
which  looked  like  a bill  or  a letter. 

And  it  was  a letter — about  a bill — about  the  bill 
for  washing  done  by  Catherine  Upscher,  laundress, 
for  Captain  Napoleon  Bonaparte  of  the  artillery. 

She  handed  the  emperor  of  the  French  the  bit  of 
paper,  which  turned  out  to  be  an  old  letter  which  he, 
when  an  ex-captain,  had  written  to  her,  when  a 
laundress,  about  his  indebtedness,  promising  to  pay 
her  when 

“Ah,  yes,  that  was  I who  wrote  that  letter,”  said 
Napoleon,  as  he  seized  it.  “Ah!  how  that 


MADAME  SANS-OENE. 


249 


crumpled  paper  and  that  faded  ink  bring  me  back 
my  youth.  Then  indeed  I was  poor,  alone,  with 
none  to  believe  in  me,  yet  you  believed  in  me  even 
then,  you,  a simple  laundress.  Ah!  now  I do  indeed 
remember  you — you  were  as  kind  as  you  were  clever. 
Ah!  madame,  believe  in  me  again,  that  the  emperor 
will  not  again  forget.” 

Napoleon  was  profoundly  affected  by  this  little 
incident;  all  his  anger  was  gone. 

‘^But  stop,”  he  asked,  ‘‘had  you  not  some  other 
name — some  nickname?” 

“Yes,  sire,  they  called  me  Catherine  Sans-Gene,” 
answered  the  ex-laundress. 

“Ah!  true,  I recollect,  and  I remember  once  Le- 
febvre  alluded  to  it  in  my  presence.  And  now, 
Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Dantzig,”  he  said,  resuming 
his  imperial  tone  and  manner,  “ I shall  see  to  it  that 
my  sisters  shall  never  reproach  you  with  your  humble 
origin  again.  If  it  is  a fault,  you  shared  it  with 
Murat,  with  Ney — eh — and  with  me.  By  the  bye,” 
he  continued,  gliding  back  into  the  familiar  style 
again,  “before  we  part  how  much  do  I owe  you, 
Madame  Sans-Gene?” 

“Three  napoleons,  sire,”  she  replied  gayly. 

The  emperor  smilingly  felt  in  his  pocket. 

Parileu!^^  said  he,  “I  haven’t  any  money  with 
me.” 

“Never  mind,”  said  she,  “I  will  trust  you  again.” 
Both  laughed. 

“Thanks,”  said  the  emperor  merrily.  “But,”  he 
continued,  “it  has  grown  late,  the  palace  is  all  asleep, 
or  should  be  by  this  time;  I will  send  Koustan  with 
you  to  see  you  to  your  apartments.”  He  called  his 
faithful  servitor. 

Roustan  lighted  a candle  to  conduct  madame  to 
her  rooms.  He  started  in  advance  of  the  duchess. 
Then  suddenly  turning  to  the  emperor  he  cried 


250 


MADAME  8AN8-QENE. 


with  an  expression  that  sent  a cold  chill  through 
Catherine’s  veins; 

‘‘Sire,  there  is  some  one  in  the  gallery,  a man  in 
white  uniform;  he  is  going  toward  the  apartments  of 
the  empress.” 

Napoleon  became  terribly  pale. 

A man  in  white  uniform-— an  Austrian — going  to 
the  empress’  apartments!  Who  could  it  be  if  not — 
if  not  De  Neipperg,  whom  he  had  sent  away. 

“But  De  Neipperg  is  at  Vienna,  so  Savary  has 
positively  assured  me,”  he  thought  to  himself;  “I 
am  needlessly  alarmed;  but  then  it  must  be  some 
thief,  some  assassin.  Well,  I am  awake  and  he  will 
be  caught.” 

So  with  the  rapidity  which  characterized  him 
on  the  battlefield,  he  signed  to  Eoustan  to  put  out 
the  light. 

“Get  behind  the  door,”  he  said  to  his  attendant, 
“ready  to  come  when  called.” 

The  imperial  study  from  which  they  were  emerg- 
ing, was  now  dark;  only  the  faint  glow  of  the  dying 
embers  of  the  fire  in  the  grate  could  be  seen,  barely 
light  enough  to  show  the  way  to  the  gallery. 

In  the  darkness  and  silence  Napoleon  crept  to 
Catherine’s  side  and  seized  her  by  the  hand. 

He  pressed  it  hard,  he  whispered  “Hush.” 

Catherine  trembled  now,  for  she  was  sure  the  man 
in  the  white  uniform  was  De  Neipperg,  who  had  not 
gone  but  lingered. 

“He  is  doomed,”  she  thought,  “what  shall  I do?” 

A door  at  the  end  of  the  gallery  was  seen  opening. 

“It  is  Madame  Montebello,”  murmured  Catherine, 
recognizing  the  empress’  lady  of  honor-in-waiting. 

Napoleon  pressed  Catherine’s  hand  harder. 

The  advent  of  the  lady  of  honor-in-waiting  on  the 
scene  increased  his  suspicions.  She  seemed  to  be 
looking  for  or  conducting  some  one. 


MADAME  SANS-GENE, 


251 


Napoleon  moved  forward.  Suddenly  a man’s  voice 
was  heard  saying:  “Duchess,  may  I pass?” 

The  man  had  mistaken  his  party  in  the  darkness. 
His  form,  groping  in  the  dark,  had  stumbled  against 
the  emperor. 

Napoleon  grasped  the  intruder  firmly  and  cried: 
“ Eoustan !” 

His  attendant,  having  lighted  the  candle,  ap- 
proached. 

“Ah!  DeNeipperg;  it  ^*5  he,’’ cried  the  emperor, 
recognizing  his  rival — so  he  thought  him. 

A woman’s  cry  was  heard  at  the  emperor’s  excla- 
mation. Madame  de  Montebello  had  thus  revealed 
her  presence. 

“Eoustan,  hold  that  woman,”  cried  the  emperor. 

The  woman  was  held. 

Then  the  emperor,  beside  himself  with  rage,  struck 
De  Neipperg  on  the  breast,  denounced  him  as 
“liar,  thief,  wretch,”  and  tore  his  orders  and  insignia 
from  him.  “You  are  an  assassin,  a midnight  marau- 
der; you  are  unworthy  of  these  noble  emblems,”  he 
shouted.  He  was  desperate. 

De  Neipperg,  desperate  likewise,  drew  his  sword 
to  kill  the  emperor.  “Death  to  you,”  he  cried. 
Catherine  threw  herself  between  the  infuriated  men, 
but  Eoustan  gave  a peculiar  whistle  and  three  of 
Napoleon’s  Egyptian  guard,  his  favorite  personal 
attendants,  his  Mamelukes,  rushed  in,  and  disarming 
De  Neipperg,  bound  him  securely. 

Catherine  knelt  to  Napoleon.  “Grace,  sire,  be 
merciful,  be  patient,”  she  implored. 

He  heeded  her  not,  he  shouted  for  his  aides. 

“Gentlemen,”  he  cried,  “here  is  a man  who  has 
dared  to  raise  his  sword  against  me.  Let  some  one 
summon  the  due  de  Eovigo.  This  man  must  be 
tried,  sentenced  and  executed  at  once.  By  to-mor- 
row morning  all  must  be  over.”  And  while  De 


252 


MADAME  SAMS-GEEE. 


Neipperg  was  led  away,  Napoleon  in  anguish  turned 
toward  his  own  apartments. 

The  duchess  de  Dantzig  remained  like  one  stunned. 
She  vainly  sought  some  means  to  save  De  Neip- 
perg. 

Suddenly  Lefebvre  entered,  he  had  heard  all. 

‘^‘What  can  we  do?”  he  said  to  Catherine;  ‘‘the 
unfortunate  young  man  has  sacrificed  himself.  As 
for  me,  I am  doubly  to  be  pitied,  for  the  emperor 
insists  that  as  I am  marshal  of  the  palace  I must 
preside  at  the  court-martial  which  will  condemn  him. 
I must  obey.” 

“Yet  he  saved  my  life  once,  Lefebvre,  at  Jem- 
mapes  you  know.” 

“Yes,  Catherine,  I remember,  and  you  saved  Ms 
on  the  tenth  of  August  here  in  Paris.  What  can  be 
done?” 

“Ah!  at  least  we  can  give  the  empress  warning  if 
she  needs  any,”  said  Catherine.  “Here,  Lefebvre, 
try  to  get  as  near  as  you  can  to  the  empress’  apart- 
ments.” 

“That  is  easily  done,”  said  Lefebvre. 

“Then  make  some  sound,  some  noise  to  awaken 
her,”  continued  Catherine;  “call  out  loudly  to  her 
sentinels:  ‘Be  careful  that  no  one  enters  the  em- 
press'"  rooms;  seize  any  one  who  is  found  hearing  her 
a letter^  even  if  it  he  from  the  emperor  of  Austria.'" 
Do  you  understand,  Jjefebvre?” 

“No,  Catherine,  not  exactly,”  replied  her  faithful, 
brave,  but  not  quick-witted  husband.  “But  I will 
all  the  same  obey  you  as  if  I did.” 

And  he  did  obey  Catherine  literally,  thereby  ac- 
complishing her  purpose  and  putting  the  empress  on 
her  guard. 

Meanwhile  Catherine,  looking  around,  saw  Fouche, 
Duke  of  Otranto,  now  in  disgrace  at  court,  but  stil 
the  clever,  unscrupulous,  irrepressible  Fouche. 


MADAME  SAN8-0ENE, 


253 


‘‘The  very  man,”  said  Catherine,  as  she  saw  him^ 
and  she  smilingly  advanced  toward  him. 

In  a brief  conversation  she  readily  convinced 
Fouche  that  it  was  to  his  present  interest  to  save 
De  Neipperg.  The  count  was  an  Austrian,  a noble^ 
and  a friend  of  the  Austrian  empress  and  her  family. 
Marie  Louise  would  therefore  be  thankful  toFouche 
if  he  saved  De  Neipperg,  and  Marie  Louise  was  now  all- 
powerful  with  Napoleon.  She  could  show  her  grati- 
tude by  using  her  influence  to  reinstate  him  as 
minister  of  police,  and  to  remove  his  rival  Savary^ 
Due  de  Eovigo,  who  now  occupied  the  coveted 
position. 

Fouche  saw  and  seized  the  point  at  once. 

“I  shall  delay  the  execution;  that  will  give  us 
he  said  to  Catherine,  “and  time  is  what  we 
want  most  now.” 

“True,”  said  Catherine,  and  she  began  at  once  to 
plan  a scheme  for  De  Neipperg’s  escape. 

But  suddenly  the  emperor  sent  for  Catherine. 
She  found  the  empress’  lady  of  honor-in-waiting, 
Madame  Campobello,  likewise  standing  before  his 
imperial  majesty — standing  in  fear  and  trembling — 
but  Catherine,  once  as  alarmed  as  the  lady  of  honor,, 
was  now  calm.  She  saw  her  way  to  her  purpose. 

Napoleon  examined  the  two  women  like  a lawyer; 
he  cross-examined  them,  he  watched  them,  while  he 
plied  them  with  questions;  but  he  extorted  nothing 
suspicious  from  Catherine  and  nothing  at  all  from 
Madame  Campobello. 

“I  must  know,”  he  said  to  himself,  “if  my  wife 
be  true  or  false.  My  crown,  my  scepter,  for  a proof 
that  she  is  true.” 

But  his  examination  of  the  two  women  eliciting^ 
nothing,  his  suspicions  were  allayed. 

At  last  he  said  to  Catherine:  “So  you  think,  Ma- 
-dame  Duchesse  de  Dantzig,  that  I have  been  mistaken 


254 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE, 


in  my  view  of  M.  de  Neipperg’s  secret  visit  to  my  M 
palace  to-night.  ^ Yon  really  think,  do  yon,  that  he  1 
has  called  here  in  this  pecnliar  manner,  merely  to  1 
receive  a letter  from  my  wife  to  my  father-in-law?”  ; 

‘‘I  am  certain  of  it,  sire,”  answered  in  her  firmest  i 
tones  Catherine  Sans-Gene.  ; 

‘*Oh!  wonld  I were  as  certain  as  yonrself,”  said 
Napoleon. . : 

“ Yon  will  be,  sire,  soon,”  said  Catherine.  Nay,”  1 
she  con  tinned,  ‘‘yon  can  make  yonrself  snre  at  once, 
this  very  moment,  sire.”  ] 

“How  so?”  asked  the  emperor,  with  nervous  in- 
terest and  anxiety.  \ 

“Her  majesty  is  asleep,  she  has  not  been  told?”  ’ 
asked  Catherine.  ^ 

“Yes — no,”  answered  the  emperor. 

“Then  let  Madame  de  Montebello  carry  on t the 
purpose  for  which  she  started  from  her  room  to-night 
when  she  went  to  see  the  empress,  when  yon  saw  and 
prevented  her.  The  empress  will,  of  course,  not  be 
prepared  for  anything  that  has  happened,  and  will 
answer  as  she  wonld  had  nothing  happened.” 

So  spoke  Catherine  with  assurance,  knowing  that 
ere  this,  in  the  womanly  manner  her  own  woman’s 
wit  had  suggested,  her  husband  had  indirectly  given 
the  empress  alike  the  news  and  her  cue, 

“By  heavens!”  cried  the  emperor,  “yon  are  a sen- 
sible woman.  I will  try  your  experiment  at  once. 
Only,”  he  added  almost  fiercely,  seizing  the  fright- 
ened lady  of  honor-in-waiting  by  the  arm,  “do  not 
trifle  with  me;  not  a word,  not  a sign  to  warn  the 
empress.  Go  on,  forward,  but  remember,  madame, 

I am  behind  yon.” 

Madame  Montebello  advanced  trembling.  She  did 
not  know  that,  thanks  to  Catherine  and  Lefebvre, 
her  majesty  had  been  already  notified  in  advance. 
Napoleon  stood,  on  fire  with  impatience  and 


MADAME  SAJSfS-OENE. 


255 


anxiety,  in  a corner.  He  clenched  his  hands,  he 
grasped  the  back  of  a chair,  he  looked,  he  listened, 
his  eyes  were  two  balls  of  flame,  his  every  nerve 
tingled  with  excitement. 

Madame  de  Montebello  had  now  reached  the  em- 
press’ room,  and,  as  she  entered,  she  left  the  door 
open  and  said  distinctly:  “Madame,  M.  de  Neipperg 
sends  me  to  request  your  answer ; he  waits  in  the  ante- 
chamber. What  shall  I say  to  him?” 

The  empress  half  sighed  like  one  suddenly  aroused 
from  a deep  sleep,  stretched  her  arms,  and  then  gave 
a sealed  letter,  which  had  been  lying  on  a table,  to 
Madame  de  Montebello. 

“Here  is  the  answer,”  she  said.  “Greet  M.  de 
Neipperg  kindly  for  me  and  now  leave  me,  for  I am 
very  sleepy.” 

The  lady  of  honor-in-waiting,  returning,  handed 
the  letter  which  had  been  entrusted  to  her  by  the 
empress,  to  Napoleon  who  read  it  eagerly,  the  two 
women  watching  his  face  eagerly  while  he  read  it. 

Then  they  smiled,  for  they  saw  the  emperor’s  brow 
clear.  They  saw  him  press  his  wife’s  letter  to  his 
lips,  they  heard  him  murmur:  “Dear  Louise,  she 
does  love  me.”  Then  he  went  to  Catherine  and 
wrung  her  hand.  “Ah!  duchess,”  he  said,  “you 
were  right  and  I am  happy.” 

“It  is  well,  sire,”  said  Catherine,  “but  how  about 
the  count  de  Neipperg?” 

“Let  him  go,”  exclaimed  Napoleon,  “but  let  him 
never  enter  France  again.”  Then  calling  M.  de 
Kemusat  he  said:  “Give  M.  de  Neipperg  his  sword 
and  tell  him  hereafter  to  use  it  better.” 

“Ah!  sire,”  cried  the  voice  of  M.  Savary,  Due  de 
Kovigo,  “M.  de  Neipperg  is  dead,  as  you  have 
ordered.” 

“Dead!  why  this  haste?”  asked  the  emperor; 
“could  you  not  have  waited  till  dawn?” 


956 


MADAME  8ANS-GENE. 


Savary  was  utterly  surprised  at  this  change  of 
base,  but  Fouche,  Due  d’Otranto,  now  stepped  for- 
ward. 

^‘Pardon  me,  your  majesty,”  he  said,  ^‘but  M.  de 
Neipperg  still  lives,  I took  the  liberty  of  ordering 
his  execution  to  ie  ^postponed  for  your  further  in- 
structions. So  the  men  whom  you  told  to  shoot  him 
have  obeyed  me^  M.  Due  de  Eovigo,”  said  Fouche  to 
Savary.  Then  turning  to  the  emperor  he  said: 
^‘You  see,  sire,  the  men  still  take  me  for  chief  of 
the  police.” 

‘‘So  you  from  this  moment,”  cried  Napoleon 
well  pleased.  “Ah!  Fouch6,  you  are  the  devil,”  he 
added,  “you  see  and  foresee  everything.” 

Then  turning  to  the  Mar^chale  Lefebvre,  he  said: 
“It  is  time,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  for  you  to  rejoin 
your  husband.  As  for  me,  I shall  awake  the  empress 
and  assure  her  that  her  letter  to  Vienna  has  been 
forwarded.” 

Lefebvre  now  entered  for  orders. 

“The  emperor  has  pardoned  De  Neipperg,”  his 
wife  said  to  him,  “and,  as  you  know,  dear,  he  no 
longer  wishes  to  divorce  us.” 

“Bravo!  I thank  you,  sire,”  said  the  marshal 
gratefully  to  the  emperor. 

“Lefebvre,  when  one  has  a wife  like  yours  one 
keeps  her,”  said  Napoleon,  smiling. 

Happy  in  the  fond  faith  that  Marie  Louise  was 
true,  pleased  that  he  had  been  merciful,  sure  that 
Neipperg,  through  Fouche,  had  escaped  Savary, 
and  left  Paris,  Napoleon  raised  Catherine’s  face  and 
kissed  her — a mark  of  unusual  favor  at  his  court. 
“Good-night,  Madame  Sans-Gene,”  he  said. 

And,  rejoicing  in  his  heart,  Napoleon  retired  to 
the  room  of  his  wife,  Marie  Louise.  All  this  was 
nine  months  before  the  birth  of  the  king  of  Rome. 

THE  EKD. 


